


In the Back of Our Minds

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Season/Series 01, episode tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thoughts, memories, fears, joys, hopes, dreams, pain... A closer look at Arthur and Merlin's thoughts during the course of the first season and how their relationship changes, and the thoughts that we couldn't see while watching the show. Season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Dragon's Call

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

_**.~*Merlin*~.** _

It is amazing how one's life can turn around so dramatically in such a short span of time. I can't believe that I was actually excited about coming to Camelot; that I thought I could make a better life for myself here. I wish my mother hadn't found out that Will knows about my magic now; maybe I wouldn't be in this situation.

It's not all that bad, though, I suppose, if you don't count the fact that my life is in constant jeopardy because the King is a stubborn, blind man who closes his ears to everything once the word magic has cropped up in a conversation. Not that I've had much of a conversation with King Uther, though. Thank goodness.

The only time he has addressed me directly was when he appointed me as his son's manservant, and that opens a whole new slew of problems.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I am still reeling from the terrible sight that greeted me upon my arrival to Camelot.  _A man, hands bound, head on a chopping block, a deadly ax looming over his bared neck as the executioner, face concealed behind that dark, foreboding mask...The swish of the blade descending through the air, thick with tepid suspense, the squelch as the tender flesh, cartilage, veins, and sinew offered no resistance to the ax head that struck it full force...The grisly separation of the sorcerer's head from his body..._

That was the first time I had ever seen an execution and it was more terrible than I could have imagined, especially since the horror was inflicted upon one of my own, my kin, a possessor of magic. Even if he studied, even if he wasn't born with the magic like I was, he still had the ability. He had the chance to do something with that power, something good. But whether or not he would use his magic for good will never be found out, because he is dead, his life wasted, thrown away by a King who is too ignorant to listen to reason.

 _That could have been_ me _up there._

**.~*~.**

I don't know what to think about myself anymore.

Back in Ealdor, I had friends. Okay.  _A_ friend. But he accepted me for who I was and I didn't fear for my life when I was around him. I kept my "gifts" secret from everyone else. I knew I was different, that I was powerful, but the way my new guardian, Gaius, goes on about it...

_I'm the most sensational sorcerer to ever hit the market_

That is to say, I'm extraordinarily powerful.

Apparently the fact that I can perform magic naturally, that I was born this way, with magic flowing freely, unhindered, alive, and thriving through my veins, means that I am a "question that has never been posed," as Gaius put it.

That piece of information was enough to send me reeling.  _I'm_  the only one like this? The only one who has been, is, and possibly ever will be born with such great power? Others like me, with the raw abilities that I have, are unheard of?  _That_ is a lot of pressure to put on someone's shoulders.

To make matters worse, I went my whole life not knowing what purpose I served in the world, wondering if there were such things as destiny and fate, and if there were, did I have a place in them? Gaius seems to think so; he believes that I was given my magic for a reason...

I'm just lucky that he understood and didn't turn me in when to Uther when I saved his life using magic. I know that magic is illegal, but I couldn't just stand there and watch him fall to his death, could I? Uther's ban on magic, his hatred toward it, confuses me. Maybe I'm just naïve, having grown up in such a small village, away from Camelot and the laws that loom over it like a heavy cloud. I just don't understand...

What I did, saving Gaius, that was good. I saved a life. But if Uther found out, he would have me killed for doing so? Killing someone for saving someone else? That seems to be a bit redundant. How can he say that magic is evil, that it can only be used for evil, when it can so obviously be used for good?

_I'm not a monster, am I?_

Gaius told me not to think that. But I can't help it.

_What if I am a monster?_

**.~*~.**

Something quite remarkable about me: I have always had the most rotten luck. I suppose I could look upon the events of the past few days as something good – I mean, I  _did_ get a job. I saved a royal's life. I'm a "hero." And I'm not dead yet, which is an impressive feat within itself.

On the other side, though, since my arrival in Camelot, I've smarted off to Camelot's prat of a prince, Arthur – twice, but I don't regret it; the man is an insufferable, narcissistic, pompous, arrogant, obnoxious idiot and needed to be taught a lesson. No, I don't regret calling him an ass – what better description could I have given him? He's a bully. I could have gone without getting thrown in the dungeons, locked in the stocks (I don't think I'll  _ever_  get all of these tomato pips out of my hair!), walloped with a broom, and that's not even mentioning the "reward" I received for saving the prince's life...

I've never liked bullies. People with power that strut around, putting others down, using them to their own advantage...it's just never set right with me. When I saw Arthur throwing knives at that poor guy – never mind the fact that he had wooden target in front of him, he still looked terrified – I knew that I had to do something. So I stepped in. And I don't regret it... Maybe I should have just walked away, and not let him goad me... My arm's still sore from where he wrenched it behind my back, and the dungeon was not comfortable in the slightest (and don't even get me  _started_ on the stocks, although they did allow me the opportunity to get acquainted with Guinevere, who seems like a very nice girl.

The second time we fought...

I almost had him. If Gaius hadn't shown up then... But either my bad luck was at it again, or Gaius just has impeccabletiming – and by  _impeccable_ , I mean  _terrible_. He distracted me, and then I got whacked with a broom by Arthur. I was fully expecting to get thrown in the dungeons again, and I'm still not sure why Arthur let me go.

" _There's something about you, Merlin. I just can't put my finger on it."_

He looked thoughtful, confused, maybe even a little impressed. That made me wonder if there's really more to him than meets the eye. Maybe he's not being a bully because he liked pushing people around, but because he is trying to overcome his own self-doubt. He seemed surprised, a little taken aback, but also  _grateful_  to have someone stand up to him for once.

Maybe  _that's_ what he needs, a little voice in his ear, yammering on about how he should treat others, defying him, challenging him, but also advising and trying to be his friend...

_A conscience._

It looks like have now been promoted to the position of "Arthur's Conscience," because there is no way on this earth that I am going to be Prince Arthur's manservant and be a bootlicker. I'm going to tell him what he needs to hear, when he needs to hear it, and I am going to advise him, and save his ungrateful life whenever the time calls for it as well...

According to the Great Dragon imprisoned in a cave deep beneath Camelot,  _that_  is my destiny...

Oh, lovely. Because when I considered my destiny,  _this_  is most  _definitely_  not what I had in mind.

**.~*~.**

I never expected Gaius to give me a sermon on how special my powers are, how special  _I_  am, and how someone like me must have something great ahead of them, let along a massive dragon living under the castle, who told me that I have a destiny. Gaius said something of the sort, too, not long after I arrived in Camelot, but, unlike this great, all-knowing, riddle-monger of a dragon, he had no idea what that destiny was to be.

I think I prefer Gaius's answer to the one that the dragon gave me.

_My destiny is to protect the once and future king, Prince Arthur, from any magical and non-magical threats, and help to change him from a pompous, narcissistic, self-centered, arrogant prat to a great king that will one day bring magic back to Camelot and unite the land of Albion._

I suppose that will be a bit easier to do now that I get to spend most of the time with his royal stuck-up-ness as a servant for saving his ungrateful life.

I'm still trying to figure it out – how is becoming a servant for the prince supposed to be a  _reward_  for saving his life? I would have been fine with a simple, "Good job." Of course, if Uther ever found out that I used _magic_  to help save him, and planned on using my powers to do so again whenever the time presents itself, he would have me burned at the stake. Again, if I'm using magic to save his son's life, how is it that I am using it for evil?

Royals. They make no sense, the lot of them.

All I know is, I hope this destiny thing is worth it, because I've got a ton of armor, a load of dirty clothes, and a messy room to clean before tomorrow morning.

What a wonderful way to start my first week in Camelot.

**.~*~.**

_**.~*Arthur*~.** _

_Who does he think he is?_

I'm still trying to figure it out. Huh, if someone would have told me, just a few days ago, "You will get smarted off by a scrawny, cheeky git – not once, but twice – and then get your life  _saved_  by that scrawny, cheeky git," I would have told them off as crazy.

And then I would be eating my words as we speak.

I quite honestly have no idea what to think about this boy, this  _Merlin_. He's not much younger than myself, and about my height, but he's thin and has no muscles – at least, none that I could detect under the ratty, too-loose long-sleeved shirt. Normally guys like him stay away from me. They  _know_ I can beat them in a fight, and they know I  _will._  But this man?

He told me to my face that I am an ass. And  _that_ was just before he knew who I was.

The day after I had him thrown in the dungeons for being so impertinent, he proceeded to call me a  _royal_  ass, and ask me how long I've been training to be a prat.  _A prat!_

But still...

_There's something about this Merlin that I can't put my finger on._

**.~*~.**

I would never admit it to anyone, but I'm still a bit shaken by the whole nearly dying experience. The lengths that old hag went to to get revenge for her son's death...

Morgana was glad that I was okay, but she didn't seem too upset by the fact that I was almost killed. After the feast, she had shot an annoyed glance at my father and muttered something under her breath about "That poor woman." I don't understand what she's so upset about. The lady's son had practiced magic, and by the laws of Camelot, magic is banned. My father was doing what any good king should do, upholding the law.

When I told Morgana this, she scoffed at me, keeping her voice low so that Father wouldn't hear her. "The man committed no crime – he was only using magic, he wasn't hurting anyone with it! Surely not everyone with magic can be evil!"

Her words are still ringing in my head.

" _The more people he executes, the more criminals he'll create...That poor mother. I'm almost sad that she died such a terrible death. She should have fled Camelot when she had the chance. Not that I want her to hurt you, of course, like she threatened, but I feel so bad for her anyway. I hate having to watch an entire family be wiped out because of Uther's blind hatred..."_

" _I don't understand how he can stand there and watch person after person be decapitated or burnt at the stake for simply using magic. If someone has used their magic for evil, by all means, torture and kill them...But for good? Or in a neutral way? Why is healing a mother's wound, using magic to clean your house, or even magically making yourself taller something to die for? For heavens sake, if someone gets sick and is suddenly well, they are liable to get killed just because they had a remarkable recovery! If magic can be used to save lives, it can obviously be used for good."_

She was really in a mood after the events of the feast. She just wouldn't let it go, following me all the way to my chambers, trying to convince me that Father is wrong.

But he's not.

Is he?

I used to think that Morgana opposed Father just to get some sort of a reaction out of him, but now I'm not so sure. She seemed so adamant, so passionate about it that I can't help but wonder if its really how she feels. And if she really has a point...

Of course she doesn't.

Or does she?

**.~*~.**

_I almost died tonight._

It's not that I'm scared – I'm not. For heaven's sake, I'm the  _prince_  of Camelot, and I don't  _get_ scared. I've trained as a knight, I am the best at what I do, and other people respect me for it. I've been on quests, I've seen death, I've almost died before.

But this...

This was different.

The woman was out to get me –  _me –_  specifically. It wasn't as if I was in the midst of a group of enemies that just wanted to kill as many people as they could, not caring who they were. This woman was after  _me._

And had I done anything wrong? It wasn't  _my_  fault her son chose to break the law and get himself killed. She was wanting revenge on my father by killing _me._  I still don't see how that's fair. Maybe everyone with magic has some sort of mental deficiency.

Speaking of mental deficiencies...

If it hadn't been for Merlin, I would have been dead. The idiot saved me, although I have  _no_  idea why he would do something like that, put his life on the line for me.

I feel ashamed that he even had to save me. I don't know what came over me – it certainly wasn't fear because I am a  _prince_  and  _not_  afraid – but it was like my feet were stuck to the floor. I couldn't seem to make myself move, make myself dive out of the way.

_That knife would have embedded itself in my heart...I would have been dead, my blood leaking from my no longer beating heart, face pale and limp, blood mixing with the regal red of my cloak, eyes open yet unseeing...dead..._

Merlin saved me.

I don't know what to think of my new servant, but never would I have thought after that first meeting that he would have saved my life. In fact, if someone wanted to kill me, I might have thought he would help them... Maybe he doesn't hate me as much as I thought... But why should I care what he thinks about me? I'm the prince.

I don't care.

Really. I don't.

**.~*~.**

I don't understand him, but maybe now that he is my servant, I can figure him out...

He defied me, called me names, tried (and spectacularly failed) to fight me, and yet, there's just something about him that's almost comforting.

_He doesn't treat me like a prince, he treats me like a person. He has no regard for titles._

Also, he saved my life. I had him thrown in the dungeons, for crying out loud, I humiliated him by beating him in a fight – twice – and he still saved my life.

Maybe having him for a servant won't be as that bad...

If nothing else, the fact that I don't get him makes him interesting to be around, to try and figure out.

And he's annoying. And talkative. Probably incompetent and lazy too. Oh, yes, and a  _complete_  idiot.

Good grief, how am I going to survive him being my servant?


	2. Valiant

_**.~*Merlin*~.** _

I never trusted Valiant. From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew he was a creep and I vowed to keep a sharp eye on him. I can't really explain what it was about him that made me instantly wary of him. Maybe it was my magic. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was those shifty eyes that regarded Arthur coldly as if he were merely an obstacle to be dealt with and that stared at Morgana with lust raging in those gray depths. He just couldn't be trusted. He had a look about him that suggested he'd resort to any means necessary to win the tournament and Morgana's hand.

Ah. The tournament. I'm still aching from all the training Arthur put me through for the bloody thing – and it wasn't even me who was to compete! Why he couldn't use one of his own knights and knock them around a bit instead of me, I don't know. He probably gets some sort of sick euphoria from seeing me stumble around in armor that's really too heavy for me and trying to wield that stupid sword. I don't know – is he really that bad?

The more time I spend with Arthur, the more I realize that there might just be more to him than meets the eye. Yes, he is pampered to an unhealthy level. Yes, he is most certainly a prat – and a royal one. But he also has his duties, like Gaius said, and the events of the past few days really threw into sharp relief just how extensive his duties are – although I still think it's very unfair how he gets all the girls and all the glory.

Like I said, Arthur had been training like crazy for the tournament, and I returned to Gaius's chambers after my first day serving Arthur covered in cuts and bruises and aching terribly. And that clanging…

But still, it wasn't all that bad. It's really quite incredible to watch Arthur fight. You can say what you want about him (and you know that I will), but the man is an expert fighter. The only trouble is, so was Valiant.

**.~*~.**

That shield of Valiant's, there was something very off about it. I sensed something when he first approached Arthur after the first day of the tournament, offering his congratulations. The shield just gave me the queerest sensation that something was very, very wrong. The snakes, all electric green with ruby eyes glinting like death's blood, seemed to stare at me, mocking me, daring me to try and come against them.

I passed it off as something silly, something stemming from my earlier impressions of him being a creep. I probably shouldn't have, though – I should have realized that the shield wasn't just a shield. I think it was my magic, trying to warn me, to tell me that all was not well, but I ignored it.

When I muttered, "Creep," after Valiant left Arthur and I, I wondered fleetingly if I'd overstepped my boundaries. After all, Valiant was a knight and the extent to which Camelot coddles its noblemen, whether local or visiting, is quite tiring. Thankfully, Arthur actually laughed and we had a moment. What kind of a moment, I'm not sure. But it almost felt… friendly. But the moment passed and he was back in his prince mode again before I could blink.

I swear, Arthur's mood changes more than a woman's, especially when he's around me.

**.~*~.**

It was during the time of the tournament that I got my first real scare.

I may have magic – powerful magic – but even I know that magic will do you no good if you can't use it without being executed for it, and besides, it's a little hard to say a spell in time to avoid death when a man's sword is to your heart!

It was that stupid shield again.

Or, rather, the snakes on the shield.

For a moment, I actually thought Valiant was going to kill me.

Looking back, I'm almost surprised that he didn't off me, then and there, because he certainly was ruthless with everyone he faced in the arena. The feeling of that deadly point touching my chest, no matter how lightly, still makes me shudder a bit. Even if makes me a wimp (which Arthur would be sure to attest to if he knew about what had happened in the tent), I was still frightened. After all, I'm from a small farming village and I never had any real brush with danger before. I'd certainly never had a sword pointed at my heart.

For a few moments there, I thought my heart, as fast as it was thudding, was going to launch itself out of my body and impale itself on the sword before Valiant could strike me down. It was a stupid and, quite honestly embarrassing, thought.

Thankfully I was able to regain my composure a bit and stand up slowly, backing up and assuring Valiant that I didn't need anything. I really didn't. I had all that I needed to know.

_One of the snakes on his shields had blinked._

Valiant was either in a merciful mood or didn't see me as a threat (most people don't because of my slight size, which is good when it comes to using my magic – most don't think me capable) and he let me go, and of course I stumbled as I left that tent. But I was distracted.

Because the blasted snake had blinked at me.

**.~*~.**

This whole system of nobles and commoners still annoys me to no end. I understand that noblemen and women are, well, noble, or at least, they're supposed to be. But who's to say that a nobleman can't be as unscrupulous as a common thug? Valiant was a knight and he didn't seem to have any qualms about using magic to cheat and severely injure other knights. That's not exactly noble behavior. Yet despite of his inward darkness, if I had gone to Uther and suggested that Valiant was using a magic shield to cheat in the tournament, all it would have taken would have been one word from Valiant and I'd be in the dungeons – or worse. Because I'm a not a noble – I'm a nobody in the king's eyes, which means my word counts for nothing.

At least Arthur believed me. I have to admit, I was quite surprised at Arthur's quick acceptance of my words. I had approached him with the severed head of one of Valiant's snakes – which I valiantly chopped off for the antidote to the poison in the bitten knight's system – fully expecting to either be scoffed at or put in the stocks. What I hadn't expected was Arthur making me swear that everything I was telling him was true – which I did – and then those four words that made me wonder if possibly there's a good, redeemable person buried somewhere inside of that arrogant prat.

"Then I believe you."

**.~*~.**

I should have known it was too good to last – anything going well in my life was always like that. The worst part was, it was due to our – Gaius's and mine – own stupidity that our only witness wound up dead in the first place.

We never should have left him alone.

We should have realized that Valiant wouldn't let another knight who could make my claim credible live to tell his tale. That man is a snake himself, a devious wolf in sheep's clothing, strutting nobly around Camelot for all to see but slinking, lurking evilly in the shadows when backs are turned.

When Gaius told me that the knight was dead, I knew that everything was about to go into a downwards spiral. I just didn't realize how embarrassing that spiral would be for Arthur.

_I still can't believe how Uther looked at him._

It was a look of disapproval, of shame, that Uther dealt to his ever-loyal son. I wanted to give him a lecture on being a better parent – prince or not, Arthur still needed his father; he was lucky to have one whilst I did not – and then use my magic to turn Valiant into something delightfully horrible, like a smelly, warty toad (provided he wasn't already too toady to be turned in the first place) as the man suggested that Arthur was using this as a ploy, as an excuse to get out of fighting the cheating coward.

People like Valiant make me sick. They take something like magic – something so wonderful and neutral – and twist it to their own ends. It is people like Valiant (very inappropriately named, by the way) that give magic the name that Uther hates it for. It's people like him, people that turn magic into a weapon for evil, that cause the kind of destruction Uther tried to abolish during the Great Purge. People like Valiant are nothing more than cowards that used their own perverted form of magic as a shield – this time, literally – so that they won't have to face the ugly truth about how pathetic they are. They're just like bullies – they relish wielding some form of power, no matter how unwarranted or corrupt that power may be, and they use it to uplift themselves from their pitiful position.

It's sick.

And then I nearly got thrown in the dungeons for trying to tell Uther the truth – you would think that after saving his son's life he would be willing to listen, at least a little. Instead, he had the guards grab me and drag me away.

I hate to say that it was Valiant who saved me from the dungeons. In all honesty, I think I would have rather rotted in those stinking cells than to have been rescued by that coward. To make matters worse, he was only doing it to up his own credibility.

As the guards were pulling me toward the door, I looked at Arthur, half-hoping that he would come to my rescue. I don't know why I thought he would, especially the state he was in, having just been told off and embarrassed by his father and Valiant in front of the entire royal court. He was too caught up in his thoughts to protest my treatment even if he wanted to.

**.~*~.**

I'd like to say that it didn't bother me at all when Arthur yelled at me. He's a prat, so it shouldn't have torn me up inside to hear him say, "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!" … but it did.

I know he was embarrassed but how exactly was I to blame? After all, the it wasn't like the witness was dead when I went to Arthur about Valiant. When I came to Arthur, there was a witness, there was proof. I know that Gaius and I should have never left that man alone, but I hardly think that's what was going through Arthur's mind.

He was angry because of the disappointment in his father's eyes.

I tried to boost his spirits and I tried to make him see that not all was lost. But he wouldn't listen. Instead, he fired me. Sacked me. My place as his servant… gone after the first few days. It ripped me to pieces to hear him say that he no longer required my services… that he needed a servant he could trust.

_A servant he could trust._

I could say that I was only upset because Arthur was taking his anger at his father out on me. But that would be a lie.

_He wanted a servant he could trust._

Perhaps it's my destiny that makes me feel somehow connected to Arthur Pendragon. Or my magic. But whatever it was, I couldn't stand the idea of Arthur hating me.

**.~*~.**

Even now, after I made those snakes on Valiant's shield come to life for everyone to see – the second time I've saved his life – and after Arthur re-hired me, the look on his face still haunts me, along with the knowledge that he knew that more than likely he was going to die but he went out and fought anyway because it was his duty.

_Duty, destiny, fate, honor…_

Duty forces a man to do things that all common sense screams against because of others' expectations.

Destiny forces a man to take a path he would have never foreseen and do things he never would have done otherwise.

Fate twists a man's life, forming it into something they do not expect, and often do not want.

Honor… In a man's quest for honor, he will face even the most deadly challenges in order to be seen as honorable.

_These are the forces that control our lives._

. **~*~.**

I was surprised that Arthur came up and talked to me during the feast, grumping about how Morgana said she saved him – but she did (well, I saved him first, but he'll probably never find out about that, so it's a moot point). I would have never thought that he would admit that he was wrong. I was so thrilled when he re-hired me, though, although it would have been nice if he had bought me a drink like I suggested…

After all the excitement of the past few days, I think a drink would have hit the spot.

Oh crap, I just remembered…

I still have to get rid of that dog…

**.~*~.**

_**.~*Arthur*~.** _

Merlin. Is. An. Idiot.

I'm not sure why I was thinking that his being my servant was going to be tolerable, really. I mean, true, he actually did manage to get me into my armor adequately – the second time – but the truth is, he doesn't know what the hell he's doing.

Somehow I find that I don't mind, though – not really. Sure he may be a bit of a blockhead, but his non-gravelling company is a bit of a positive change at times. Besides, I've found that a brilliant way to get out my frustration at him is to train with him. That way I can clobber him with my sword a bit and not really hurt him.

I was impressed, though. Most servants I'd trained with before collapsed after the first blow. Merlin, even with all his complaining and whining, stood his ground fairly well.

Maybe it won't be too terrible.

**.~*~.**

I wasn't nervous about fighting in the tournament, no matter what Merlin might think. I admit, I probably shouldn't have snapped at him but it's so difficult to focus on the task ahead when some idiot it blabbering away in your ear.

"Really? I thought everyone got nervous."

Naïve, naïve Merlin. I don't get nervous. I am the Prince of Camelot. I am the champion. Besides, my father would never condone me being nervous. He expects so much from me – as well he should, as I am the future king, the heir to the throne – and for me to be nervous about a silly little tournament would certainly make him disappointed in me.

**.~*~.**

Nervous or not, I really didn't like Valiant.

He had this shifty look about him and he regarded me coldly. I had a feeling that any respect he offered to me was purely out of show. That calculating look in his gray eyes when he sized me up the first day of the tournament was chilly. He seemed to be trying to take stock of me, to determine how much of a threat I would be to him, as if attempting to figure out just how far he'd need to go to beat me.

_Creep._

When Merlin voiced my exact thoughts when Valiant strode away, I couldn't help but laugh. After all, my servant had a point. And in that moment, when Merlin and I shared a lighthearted moment, laughing together, I felt good – like I was with someone who didn't care whether or not I was nervous – which I wasn't – and who wouldn't stop liking me if, by some strange, impossible happenstance, I didn't win the tournament. I was talking to someone who didn't care about the "Prince" part of "Prince Arthur" – at least not in the same way that everyone else seemed to care about it. Merlin wasn't showing me friendliness because he wanted something from me, but because he expected something – for me to live up to my title.

It was all a very staggering and foreign idea so I masked my newfound uncertainty with more chores for Merlin to do.

That's my greatest strategy when dealing with Merlin, and I'm quite pleased with it, even if he's only been my servant for a couple of days – when a conversation starts to get uncomfortable or too "friendly," simply come up with a long list of chores for him to do. After all, even if he does treat me like a normal person, I'm not a normal person and Merlin does need to remember who's boss.

A couple of hours mucking out my horses should remind him.

**.~*~.**

I don't know what caused me to believe that Merlin was telling the truth. I'm not sure why he was so adamant about me believing him, either. Obviously he wasn't my biggest fan – only a few days prior he had directly challenged my authority and called me a royal ass – so why was he so intent on revealing Valliant? It could be that he had found out about the man and didn't want anyone to get hurt, but I had a feeling that it was mainly me that he was trying to protect.

Ultimately, I suppose that was most likely why I believed him. His eyes were so sincere and honest and he desperately seemed to be trying to look out for me.

I haven't done anything that should have caused him to want to protect me.

**.~*~.**

I was so angry when I found out that the witness was dead. So, so angry. I wasn't angry at Merlin, exactly. Just… everyone. Myself. My father.

Okay, so I was mad at Merlin, although it may not have been the most just anger. It's just… I had been prepared to trust him, to take him at his word. He had said that there was a witness… but suddenly the witness was dead.

I had to face my father and tell him that we had no proof that Valiant was using magic to cheat.

That look on my father's face when he thought that I was afraid, trying to withdraw, I'll never forget. It was a mixture of disappointment and fury. How can he look at me like that after watching me grow up the man I've become? Sure, I have my faults, but everyone does, even him. Yet whenever I mess up he stares at me with that cold, hard gaze that screams over and over again, "You're not good enough."

When he looked at me, it was suddenly just my father and I in that room, no one more, no one less. He was looking at me and I him, staring each other down.

_Are you really a frightened child, afraid you're going to be humiliated by Valiant?_

_No! I was just trying to do the right thing and it blew up in my face… again._

We may not have said these words, but they spoke through the uncomfortable silence nonetheless. At one point, I think Merlin may have said something to my father, trying to get him to understand. My father reacted badly, I think, and was going to have him arrested. I vaguely remember seeing the guards dragging Merlin toward the door and Valiant stopping them.

Great. I couldn't even stand up for my own servant. The snake had to do it for me. I know he did it to raise his credibility. If I had been the one to tell my father no, let Merlin go, it would have been for the right reason, because Merlin's an idiot who has no idea how to behave himself in front of the royal court and wasn't aware that he was doing anything wrong.

When my father dismissed us, he gave me one last, long look and muttered, "I expect more from you, Arthur. If you ever make such allegations against a knight without proof on the word of your servant," he spat the word out like it was poisonous, "then there will be severe consequences and your servant will pay the price for coming to you without proof."

I nodded stiffly and left. It shouldn't have bothered me that my father threatened Merlin. My father threatened everyone for crying out loud. But it did. I felt a fierce wave of protection crash through me as I headed to my chambers that vied against my anger and humiliation for Merlin. The concern I felt for the servant served to only make me angrier, but I told myself I'd calm down before I talked to Merlin.

No such luck.

**.~*~.**

I didn't mean to explode on Merlin. I didn't mean to fire him. I didn't mean to yell. I certainly didn't mean to scream for him to get out of my sight. It just happened. My temper flared up, seeing him still so determined to prove that Valiant was using magic. "It didn't go exactly to plan." You can say that again.

I don't think there's any way I can ever make Merlin fully understand the weight of my duties. He is, after all just a commoner, a servant, and has no idea what it is like to have a great destiny that you can't escape from. My destiny is to be king. And when my father looked upon me with that scowl of distaste, even if it was only for a moment, it hurt. It made me want to lash out.

Too bad for Merlin, he was the first person I came across after the scene in the throne room that I could take my rage out on.

I'll always remember the hurt, almost panicked look on his thin face when I fired him. "I need a servant I can trust."

 _"But you_ can  _trust me."_

Somehow, Merlin, I knew you were right, but I was too angry to admit it. I regretted sending you away the moment you stepped out of the room.

**.~*~.**

I wasn't quite sure how to react when Merlin came to warn me not to compete a few hours later. He looked tired, as if he had been making himself stay awake, but more than that – he looked drained, like he had just spent a bunch of energy trying to do something. I'm sure I'm mistaken about that, though – as lazy as Merlin is, there's no way he'd be doing anything.

Except worrying.

Honestly, why does Merlin care so much? After I sacked him – unfairly, at that – I would have expected him to give up on me and to say, "Well, if that's how he wants it, fine. Let Valiant's pets kill him."

Instead, he visited me, telling me that I shouldn't compete. When he first walked in I told him that I thought I told him to get out of my sight. In actuality, I wanted to tell him that I was wrong to fire him and that I needed his help more than ever now. He was the only one who still believed the truth about Valiant as far as I knew, and even though Valiant denied the allegations when we spoke to him, I still believed that Merlin had been telling the truth.

_I had never really doubted him._

Of course, I couldn't admit that I was now feeling the teensiest bit nervous – that is, if I got nervous, which I don't, so this whole sentence was pointless. I told him I had to fight and he asked me why.

_Why?_

I don't know, Merlin. I just don't know.

Maybe because my father thinks that I have to if I am to be worth his pride and approval.

Maybe because I think that I have to if I am to be worth his pride and approval.

I told him it was duty, which is true. But it's more than that.

It all boils down to my father. My need for his love, for his approval, for his pride.

In the end, the snakes somehow revealed themselves, and I decapitated them and won the tournament. My father was proud of me, clapping his approval of my win. I had what I yearned for and I had done my duty.

_But somehow, I still felt empty._

**.~*~.**

Morgana did not save me, I don't care what she says. I would have figured something out. I admit, it was rather convenient not to have to use my raw strength to strangle them or my bare hands to kill them (which, of course, I could have done quite easily), but still, she didn't save me from the snakes.

Now she is mad at me, even several hours after the feast, but she'll come around. We fight all the time, so this is nothing new. But it was nice to have her on my arm for five minutes without her making a fuss like usual.

Merlin is my servant again. After my father was given indisputable proof that I had known what I was talking about, I began to feel even more remorse for taking my anger out on Merlin like that. And I decided not to be like father and actually admit that I had made a mistake. I know that my father will never apologize to me and I have resigned myself to that fact. But that didn't mean that I had to put Merlin through the same thing. Granted, it's not the same thing, as I'm not Merlin's father – thank heavens – but I did feel bad about sacking him, and I needed my servant back. There was no way I was going to use that bootlicker of a servant that waited on me before Morgana came to help me with my armor after I fired Merlin.

I didn't exactly say I was sorry, but I did tell him that I had been wrong to sack him, so surely that was enough. I am his master; I didn't have to show any sort of retribution. Merlin told me that it was alright, that I could buy him a drink.

Ha. As if.

But I have to admit, I'm quite pleased that he's my servant again. I missed covering up my confusing and awkward feelings by throwing chore after demeaning chore on him.

I still have to wonder, though. Why does he care so much?

Ah, well, I suppose it is nice that no matter the reason for how far he went to help me over the past few days, to know that someone – even if that someone is annoying and that doesn't know when to "Shut up, Merlin!" – has my back.

Crash.

Oh no. Merlin's stammering something from the other room.  _"Sorry, Sire, I'll clean it up."_

Good grief. I have to go and take care of this –

"Oh for heaven's sakes... SHUT UP,  _MER_ LIN!"


	3. The Mark of Nimueh

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Sometimes you are forced to make a decision that literally determines life or death for the people around you, the people you care the most about. It's not fair, and it's not easy. It's not a situation that anyone would relish finding themselves in, but when you are put in that position, you have to make a choice – do you turn a blind eye or do you do something about it?

I would have thought the answer would be simple: If someone is in need of your help, you go out of your way and do everything that you possibly can to help them. It only seems right. When I see someone in danger, I want to set things right. I've never quite understood the idea of sacrificing a few innocents for the "greater good," although I'm sure that I would hate to be put in a position where I had to kill to save lives – I'm not sure what I would do if I had to make that kind of decision, even now, after all that I've learned from the past few days.

But that isn't what is important here. What  _is_  important is that sometimes you will be strolling down a set path and have one way of looking at life. And then, suddenly, without warning, your clear road will diverge into two less-focused trails and you will have to make a decision. The choice that you make here will have a tremendous impact on your life, the way you perceive the world, your destiny, and, perhaps the scariest of all, the lives of those around you.

_Right or wrong. Life or death. Dark or light. These concepts used to be complete opposites. It was more than obvious where the defining line between them was drawn. But now?_

My whole concept of life has been rocked. I'm still reeling from the idea that sometimes saving a life may not always be the  _right_  thing to do. I've grown up in a world of black and white, and the shades of gray that are beginning to bridge the gap between two opposites is starting to scare me a bit.

_By saving her father, I almost killed my best friend._

**.~*~.**

My friend Will found out about my magic when were were thirteen. We had been goofing off by the river when Will had lost his footing on the tree branch he was standing on and had begun to hurtle through the air toward the rushing river below. There were jagged rocks on the bottom and Will wasn't the best swimmer. I'd tried to tell him not to climb above the river for those reasons exactly, but Will was being… well, Will, and didn't listen to me. And when he slipped and I saw him fall to what would probably be his death, the choice I had to make – use magic and risk everything to save him or do the "right" thing and let him drown – was perfectly clear. In fact, I don't even believe I saw a choice to be made. I just knew that I  _had_ to save him. He was my friend, and even if he wasn't, I couldn't just let him die.

So I reacted with the same instinctual magic that stopped Gaius in midair when we first met. I saved Will's life with magic, and the secret between the two of us only served to bring us closer until my mother found out that he knew and sent me here, to Camelot. Will was the only true friend I had until I met Guinevere. But I wonder how long that friendship would last if she found out that I am a warlock practicing magic in the heart of Camelot. I don't think she would turn me in. In fact, that mutual secret might bring us closer like it did for Will and me.

But if she found out that  _I_  was the reason she almost burned at the stake?

_I almost killed my friend._

When her father first became ill, the answer was as simple as it had been six years ago when I saved Will's life, even with Gaius muttering warnings in my ear the whole time.

_I discovered that life isn't always black and white and sometimes even the most obvious "right" solutions can have serious repercussions._

**.~*~.**

I do not believe that words can express just how horrendous the discovery of the first body was. I'd witnessed disease and death before, of course, but the way this sickness took its victims was exceptionally brutal – faces so pale that they were bordering on blue, once colorful eyes crusted over with white, veins showing nearly translucent skin.

_This was death and suffering that I'd never witnessed before._

I will not pretend that I wasn't shaken by the sight of the poor man, because I was. Not just because of how terribly he had died, but because he used to be so much more than a corpse. True, I didn't know him, but others did.

I understand that Gaius is a physician and that a neutral, clinical view of the devastation caused by the illness is the only way he can deal with this and do his job. But I couldn't just look upon the dead men or dying victims and see a problem to be contained or an illness to be treated.

_I saw a person, a person who was once a father or a son or a bother or a friend. Someone who had something besides just tax money and the ability to take up space to offer the world._

Perhaps I am naïve, but it is truly how I feel. It is why it chilled me when Gaius led me away from that dying victim in the street, pleading for help – not much older than myself, he was. I know that Gaius would have helped him if he could have – after all, Gaius  _does_  have a kind heart even if he plays at being a gruff old geezer at times – but it was so against my nature and everything I believe in to simply turn around and walk away from someone dying, someone  _I_ have the power to save. I can still see the fear and desperation on that young man's face as he reached out to us, dying,  _begging_  for help.  _I_  had the power to save him.  _I_ could have saved him.

 _But_  I  _walked away._

**.~*~.**

Perhaps Gaius was right. Perhaps I shouldn't have focused so much on using my magic to save the dying but put my trust in science to find the cure. I don't know; nothing is clear to me anymore.

So, yes, maybe Gaius was right. But then why did it feel so  _wrong_?

**.~*~.**

When Arthur came to fetch Gaius for his father, I could tell there was something bothering him. Oh, he did a fantastic job of hiding his emotions – years of practice, I presume – and he can deny it until his face is as blue as the patients taken by the disease, but I could see it in his eyes. Something that happened that had rattled him to the core.

As much as he will protest – and I know that he will, the stubborn idiot – seeing the body of the second man claimed by the sickness scared him. And I could tell that it wasn't just a fear of catching it, but of Camelot succumbing to it, a raw terror that more of his people were going to suffer and die from this new illness.

It is because of this reason, among other snatches of nobility that I have gleaned from Arthur's actions since the day we met, that gives me confidence that despite what an arrogant, annoying prat he is now, one day he will be this great king the dragon told me about.

While Uther may have some empathy for his people, it is painfully obvious that Arthur already cares more for them than his father ever will.

**.~*~.**

When Gwen came rushing into our chambers, tears streaming down her face, sobbing, I knew that something was terribly wrong. At first I was afraid, as was Gaius, that she had the illness, but her skin was its normal rich toffee color and she looked perfectly fine except for her overwhelming grief.

Her words cut through me as she pleaded for Gaius to do something,  _anything_ , to save her father. "Please, Gaius, I'm  _begging_  you – he's all I have!"

To see Gaius turn her away, no matter how painful it was for him to do so, still ripped me to shreds.  _I_ could save him, even if Gaius couldn't. Her father's death would devastate Gwen and I couldn't just stand around and turn a blind eye.

 _I was_ done  _walking away._

**.~*~.**

The pure joy and relief on Gwen's face when she woke up to her father well again left me with a happiness that is just… indescribable. I had saved a life. I didn't feel proud or consider myself a hero, though. After all, I was just doing what was right.

_Or was I?_

The next day, when I went to find out how her father was doing, I think that Gwen suspected that somehow I had been the one that healed him. I suppose I could have been more tactful in my approach to the miraculous healing, but I was just so excited to see her smiling again.

I actually considered, if only for the briefest of moments, telling her my secret, but something stopped me. It wasn't that I felt that I couldn't trust her, but that I just couldn't put her in that position. It was dangerous for her to know about me. I was trying to protect her.

So I told her I was psychic. Of course, she didn't believe me, but that was the whole idea. She laughed and it was so happy, so genuine. I felt good, like I had succeeded in protecting her, both from going through a terrible tragedy and from holding a secret that could get her killed.

If only I'd known that in preventing her from having to sit there, helpless, forced to watch her father die a slow and agonizingly painful death, I was, in the very act of protecting her, putting her in more danger than she had ever been in her whole life…

**.~*~.**

I have never been more confused, terrified, or conflicted as I was when I saw some guards, led by none other than the royal prat himself, dragging a screaming Gwen away to the dungeons for sorcery. Because I had done what I thought was right. I had saved a life but at what cost? I had never expected such terrible consequences.

When she saw me…

Her cries for help are still reverberating through my mind.

_"MERLIN! MERLIN, PLEASE, HELP ME!"_

When she said my name, I wanted nothing more than to shove past the guards and straight up to Arthur, giving his royal highness a royal kick in his royal behind, telling him the stop the madness. But I couldn't.

Arthur was only doing his duty and I could tell that he wasn't particularly happy about it, either.

**.~*~.**

When I went to see Gwen in the dungeons – passing a clearly distraught Lady Morgana as I made my way down to the cells – I was appalled at how she had changed from just this morning. Her face was pale and her eyes puffy, tears having made tracks down her face. Her dress was dirty and her hair unkempt and she was chained up, the manacles around her wrists not even allowing her to reach the bars.

And she said, "Just one thing… You don't have to, but… Remember me?"

That was it. Those words coming from my friend, tears streaming down her face, knowing she was going to die for a crime she didn't commit, nearly wrenched my heart out. I knew what I had to do and I knew what it would cost me, but I was beyond the point of caring.

_I had been the one to put Gwen in this mess, and I was going to get her out of it, no matter the consequences._

**.~*~.**

I don't think I'll ever understand Arthur Pendragon.

 _Why_  did he protect me when I offered myself up as the sorcerer in Gwen's place? Sure, I think he's an idiot because even when I told him flat-out that I was a wizard he still didn't see it, but more than that, his response to Uther's orders to arrest me seemed to fluster him more than he would ever be willing to admit.

But why?

I thought he hated me, or at least had an intense, burning indifference when it came to me and my well-being. I had, after all, called him a prat and an ass on our first meeting. I had smarted off to him. I'm his servant yet I'm not afraid to speak my mind.

He had instantly protested when the guards grabbed my arms and started to drag me away – I would have gone willingly if it could save Gwen – saying something along the lines of, "Father, no, you can't do this." When Uther looked at him, his cold eyes asking why, I don't even think that Arthur knew just why he was protecting me, simply reminding Uther that I had saved his life. But that hadn't stopped him from firing me when he was angry about the failure with Valiant!

So he told the entire council that I had a grave mental affliction – that I was in love with Gwen. Which isn't true. I'm  _not_ in love with her. She's my friend. So what if she gave me a flower and I wore it in my neckerchief? I'm sure she's given flowers to plenty of her platonic friends. But anyway, it didn't matter, because Uther believed his son and Arthur slung an arm around my shoulder – it didn't feel nearly as awkward as I would have thought, almost as though we were friends – and said, "Merlin is a wonder, but the real wonder is that he's such an  _idiot_." I believe that was a message that I was to never, ever put myself on the line like that again.

I still don't understand though.

_Why?_

**.~*~.**

After all was said and done, after we had proven Gwen's innocence and destroyed the Avank, I really thought that I had a confident, someone who I could talk to about my magic.

_I thought I had someone I could turn to._

But Morgana was talking about how I am in love with Gwen. Which I'm not. And even if I was, it wouldn't be too much of a secret, now would it? Not after Arthur announced it to the whole bloody council.

I. Am. Not. In. Love. With. Gwen.

**.~*~.**

A lot happened over the last few days. I personally saw Uther's blind hatred of magic almost destroy one of my best friends. My beliefs were challenged and I was put in a position that I put myself in. I'm still figuring out my place in this world, in Camelot, and even in my own destiny. Maybe someday I'll have everything figured out, but for now, I'm still learning.

I'm learning that some of the decisions we are faced with are nearly impossible to make. Sometimes our best intentions reap the most terrible consequences. But everything turned out alright, except for everyone now thinking I'm a lovesick idiot, so maybe I did do what was right? Gwen's father is alive and so is Gwen.

The one thing I know for certain now, though, is that Arthur Pendragon is not nearly as callous and uncaring as I once thought. His actions in the council room, saving me from my own stupidity, as Gaius put it, revealed to me that there surely is more to the pratty prince than meets the eye.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

So much happened over the past several days and it is hard for me to comprehend it all. The sickness, caused by sorcery, still makes my blood boil. No wonder my father hates magic so much, look at all it has done to harm! But then again, I had my doubts – no matter how small – when Morgana and I were trying to convince Father that his judgment on the maid Guinevere was unjust. Like I told my father, one was the act of evil, the other an act of love. Surely not all magic can be used for evil. Obviously if it was used to heal, it can be for good as well as evil.

Of course, Father would have none of it – he closes his mind and heart when even the slightest whisper of "magic" is detected – and I only ended up making things worse…

_That look on her face as the guards dragged her away…_

**.~*~.**

I knew that Merlin was attracted to Guinevere, but I have to admit that even I was surprised when the bumbling idiot burst into the council meeting and declared himself the sorcerer. That moron has absolutely no trace of self-preservation in his body! He is so infuriating sometimes.

But then… why did it scare me so much when he said that he was the sorcerer? It wasn't the thought of Merlin being a warlock – because, if even by some tiny, remote chance that he did possess a bit of magic (as if he'd be smart enough to use it) – I don't think Merlin has the capacity to be evil. But of course he's not, so the point is moot.

The feeling of dread that crept into the pit of my stomach when I saw the guards grab his scrawny arms – did they really have to be  _that_  rough on him? – shocked me. I shouldn't have cared whether Merlin got carted off to the dungeon and then to the pyre. After all, I'm always complaining about what an incompetent idiot he is (which he  _is_ , don't get me wrong), so I should have been glad to get rid of him, even if he did save my life. I felt so apprehensive, like for some reason, I couldn't bear to think of the innocent, clumsy, and  _stupid_  servant burning.

The thought still sickens me.

Merlin isn't evil, there's no doubt about that. And he's weak, he's not a knight. So to think of him in pain, suffering, as naïve and weak as he is, just does not set right with me.

I could tell by his facial expression that he was surprised that I was defending him. Heck,  _I_ was surprised that I was defending him. But I wasn't going to let them take Merlin. I would  _not_ allow it. I don't know why. I just wouldn't.

Thankfully, he not only acts like an idiot, but he looks the part as well, so my father didn't question that he had a grave mental affliction – love. That was true, of course. I mean, why else would Merlin put his life in mortal peril by announcing to my father that he's a sorcerer? He obviously isn't one, but he is so self-sacrificing that I doubt he cared. He was just too focused on saving the woman he loved.

**.~*~.**

When Morgana came to talk to me, to convince me that Guinevere was not a sorceress and that Merlin knew what was causing it and how to kill it, she said something that really stuck with me, although I'm not sure why. She said that Merlin was a lover, not a fighter.

I don't know why, but it made me think of my servant in a whole new life. I hadn't really thought of him as having feelings other than happy or sad; I know it's a bit big-headed, but it's his own fault that he looks like he's such an idiot that all other emotions are beyond him. And to see that Morgana recognized something in him, picked out qualities that she found admirable, showed me that there's more to Merlin than I once thought.

**.~*~.**

I'm glad that we were able to save Guinevere. I never thought, even if she was a sorceress, that she would have done anything to deliberately hurt anyone. It didn't set right with me, what my father was doing, and I'm glad we put a stop to it.

And I'll admit that Merlin showed a surprising bit of bravery down at the water supply when I – we – were fighting that clay monster. I had half expected him to run out, screaming like a little girl, or to faint dead on the spot. But he was fairly calm and quite helpful – as was Morgana, but I'll never tell her that, she badgers me enough as it is.

Merlin wouldn't have had anything to worry about in the first place, though. I wasn't going to let anything happen to him. Which brings me back in a full circle. And again I wonder…

_Why on earth do I feel so protective of Merlin?_


	4. The Poisoned Chalice

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I don't remember much about the past few days. Most of what I do recall is scattered images, impressions, and voices. I remember pain – a lot of it – and the soft murmur of distressed voices floating around me. The last concrete thing that I remember was drinking the wine. After that, it was all a hazy blur until I woke up to learn that Prince Arthur had disobeyed his father and risked  _everything_  to save me.

**.~*~.**

I have to admit, I was extremely excited about getting to attend the banquet, even if I was going to have to wear that ridiculous, feathery hat – I swear, I think Arthur just did that to spite me, because I have  _never_  seen any servant wearing something that preposterous and fluffy before –  _ever_.

I don't know for sure why it was such a big deal for me, getting to go to the feast. I was just there, as Arthur had informed me, to make sure his cup didn't go dry, but still, I was attending a banquet – a legendary peace treaty banquet – in the halls of Camelot, even if I was simply there as a servant wearing a goofy hat. Either way, I was excited, and it was a bit of a letdown when I concluded the evening with drinking out of a goblet filled with poisoned wine…

**.~*~.**

I can't believe how easily I fell for Cara's – well, Nimueh's – ploys.

I feel kind of stupid about it now, but she seemed so nice. And yes, exceptionally pretty, with her intense blue eyes, full red lips, and pale, flawless complexion…

I should have seen right through her.

The first time we met, when I barreled into her in the corridor as I was lugging Arthur's laundry away to wash it – Who doesn't have their formal wear cleaned in over a year? It smelled like mold and mildew, and no matter what Arthur says, I  _swear_  that the Feast of Beltane last year ended in a food fight – I only saw a harmless, _beautiful_  girl. I didn't see the malice, the hatred, the ill intent bubbling just beneath the surface.

I've always been a bit nervous around girls – that's nothing new – but now I have even more reason to be suspicious of women, no matter how beautiful. I was taken in by her seemingly innocent blue eyes and the way she repeated my name after I told her.  _"Merlin."_

I don't know what it is, really, that makes me get so flustered when a pretty girl talks to me. My palms get sweaty, my mouth gets dry, and my tongue gets twisted. My brain seems to shut down and I get shaky. It's pathetic, I know – Arthur would  _never_  let me live it down if he found out – but it's just how I've always been. This time, though, I had good reason to be nervous in her presence, if only I'd been prepared.

**.~*~.**

There's no way that I can accurately describe my reaction to what Cara told me when she pulled me out of the room.  _Arthur's in mortal peril – again – and it's up to me to save him._  Again, after the fact, I feel so  _stupid_  for falling for her tricks, but she was so  _scared_  and seemed to genuinely want to help. Even if I  _had_ known, or at the very least, suspected she was lying, if there had been any possible chance that the chalice  _was_ poisoned, I would have done exactly the same. It's a good thing I did.

I didn't think there would be a risk in trying to save Arthur's life like that, though, not really. I suppose I could have thought through the situation a little more, weighed the possibilities, and come to the conclusion that I didn't have proof, therefore the results might not be the best. But if I had done that, Arthur would have drank from the goblet, and he would have been poisoned – possibly even dead by now (though rest assured, if it had been Arthur that had gotten poisoned, I would've done everything in my power to get the cure to him).

When Cara – Nimueh – told me that she had seen Bayard lacing Arthur's goblet with poison, I knew what I had to do. As difficult as it was for me to accept my destiny when the Great Dragon first told me of my fate, I've saved the prat's life three times already, and the idea is starting to grow on me. I've discovered that deep –  _deep_  – beneath his high and mighty prince persona, Arthur has the potential to be the king that I'm supposed to help him become.

Don't get me wrong – he still has a  _long_  way to go until he's at that point – but sometimes I can see tiny glimpses of the man he has the potential to become. But I have a feeling that we're  _both_  going to have to do some growing up before that can happen. Until then, I can do what I've been doing – watching his back, saving his butt, and trying to offer some little tidbits of my wisdom (and  _yes_ , I do have wisdom, even if everyone in the whole of Camelot believes me to be an idiot) along the way.

What happened when I burst into the hall and unknowingly set Nimueh's twisted scheme in motion started off a chain of events that revealed to me more than any words could the potential of what a great man – and friend – Arthur Pendragon can be. I still find it hard to believe at times, (especially when he's chasing me around with a mace yelling, "Block,  _Mer_ lin, block it – stop being a pansy and pretend to be a battle hardened warrior, you hopeless  _idiot_!) but Arthur really did risk everything to save my life, the life of his servant. Sure, I saved his life and one could say that he was only trying to return the favor. And maybe that's all there was to it. Still – I have a sneaking suspicion that Arthur was doing more than repaying a debt.

**.~*~.**

At first, I thought that I had misheard Uther. Of course, it was pretty easy to realize that I had heard him perfectly clear once I saw that goblet in his outstretched arm, just waiting for me to take it. I didn't understand – and I'm still not entirely clear –  _why_  he would do this. I was scared – there was no denying it – because I truly believed that the chalice was poisoned and I if I drank from it I would more than likely die. But why would Uther have me drink from the goblet?

He had been the one to appoint me Arthur's manservant as a reward for saving his life (and I'm  _still_  trying to figure that one out; how exactly is becoming a person's servant a reward for saving their life?) in the first place. In taking the poisoned goblet from Arthur and telling Uther of Bayard's treachery, I was, once again, attempting to save his son's life. And as a reward? I get to taste-test the poison.

I think my heart dropped to my feet right about then. When I reached out to take the goblet, I noticed that my hand was shaking slightly and that my stomach was feeling queasy.  _This is it_ , I found myself thinking.  _I'm going to die for Arthur already – the dragon will have to find some other fool to shape his character and destiny, because I'm not going to be around to see him become the Once and Future King._

While I was thinking this, I could hear a stirring in the room and I realized that Arthur was protesting, standing up for me. Again. Like he had when I had offered myself up as the sorcerer in Gwen's place, Arthur had instantly jumped in and tried to put a stop to it. My hand stilled a little as I realized that maybe I was dying for a more noble cause than I thought.

I can still remember the look in Arthur's eyes, the panic written all over his face. He was angry at his father, and scared – panicked – for me. He, too, knew that I was probably going to die if the cup was poisoned (and even if it wasn't, since Bayard looked positively murderous) and he tried to put a stop to it. Gaius protested but (like always) Uther shot him down. "You should have trained him better." What am I, a dog?

And then Arthur – " _Merlin_  – apologize, this is a mistake,  _I'll_  drink it!" I'll be truthful – he really caught me off guard there. I had been mildly surprised when Arthur had defended me in front of the entire population of the feast, but when Arthur offered to go ahead and drink it in my place, I was shocked. I thought, if only for a moment, that he could be playing some kind of a cruel joke, mocking the sacrifice I was making for him. Now I feel extremely guilty for allowing that thought to pass through my mind, because when I saw him, and that look of terror, of worry, of fear for  _me_  in his eyes…

He was dead serious. And… I didn't know what to say. Except –

"No." I knew my fate was probably sealed, but what was Arthur thinking? The noble prat was offering to give up his life for  _my_  life that I was trying to sacrifice for  _his_ life? I was touched to the deepest degree – and I still am – but I could never let that happen. Any doubts about drinking the poison fled from my mind when Arthur frantically tried to grab the cup from me, announcing that he would drink it instead. There was no way I was going to let him die for me. Not when he had the makings of a great king – even if I didn't live to see it, at least I could die knowing that with a little guidance from the right person, Camelot would have an heir that would far surpass the current king.

**.~*~.**

The wine was a tad bitter. After I had shakily but determinedly drunk the contents of the chalice, I recall looking around the banquet hall and seeing the faces of all the people watching – I don't think I've ever had that many people's eyes on me at one time before. I saw Gwen, her face etched with a mixture of worry and sadness. Arthur, looking angry and apprehensive. Gaius, sad and forlorn, almost resigned – like he'd already signed my death certificate. Uther, face hard and unemotional, not shaken by the fact that he was about to make a nineteen-year-old boy taste-test some poison. Morgana, her beautiful, pale face stern, her expression guarded, although disapproval for Uther's decision radiating from her gray eyes. Bayard, angry, hand on his sword's hilt, itching to run me through, no doubt. The lords and ladies and servants and soldiers and knights from both Camelot and Mercia's eyes were all on me too. Some faces were full of pity, others indifference, and still others bloodlust and anger. The only face I don't remember seeing was Cara's – although now I realize that Nimueh was probably lurking in the shadows, smirking about her victory.

They were all watching me. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for me to die.

**.~*~.**

I felt relieved but also embarrassed when nothing happened right away – and then I felt apprehensive again because I heard Uther tell Bayard, "He's all yours," and I realized that the other king was probably just going to kill me anyway. I glanced at Arthur – he looked defeated, his head bowed. Gwen's eyes were filled with tears.

And then I felt it.

A little tickle on the inside of my throat. At first I thought I was going to sneeze. My throat kept tightening, though, and I could feel a pang of deep, burning pain in my stomach. My vision got blurry and my throat was tighter than I was used to. I think I put a hand to my throat, coughing, but my mind was so foggy by then that I could have imagined it. And then everything was swaying, I was dizzy, and my head was pounding, radiating a stuffy heat hat clogged my throat even more. A wave of severe dizziness crashed over me and I heard a low buzz – it could have been the murmur of voices or maybe it was the blood rushing to my head as the world tottered precariously and…

I think that's when I passed out.

**.~*~.**

I don't remember much of what happened next. I can remember little fragments of conversation overheard when I was semi-conscious, but most of them are disjointed and don't make sense. I remember being hot – burning up inside my own body with no way to escape. And I remember the pain – Gaius says I was delirious, thrashing around, mumbling, gasping, groaning with agony. I'm glad I don't remember too much of it, but I don't think I'll ever forget the all-consuming pain.

It radiated from my throat and chest to every inch of my body, poisoning my bloodstream and eating me alive. Neither Gaius nor Gwen, both of whom stayed with me while I was ill, like to talk about what I was like when I was poisoned, but they both agreed that I spent most of my time squirming, thrashing around. Gwen asked me if I were having a bad dream. I told her I couldn't remember, but in all honesty, I know why I was moving – I was trying to escape from the fire that was burning me slowly from the inside out.

**.~*~.**

"—his brow is on fire…" She sounded worried. I didn't like that. Gwen is such a sweet girl. I wondered who she was talking about and what was wrong with them. I didn't want her to be upset.

The voice that answered was hard to make out, it was so tight and filled with concern. "Keep him cool; it'll help control his fever."

Gwen said something else but I had succumbed to the darkness again.

The next time I heard something, it sounded like Arthur, but… not Arthur. He sounded worried, upset. What about, though?

"What happens to Merlin if I don't?"

I think I passed out again, mercifully, because I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have liked Gaius's answer.

More disjointed snatches of conversation followed on and off for at least a day, maybe two as I drifted in and out of semi-consciousness. I couldn't really make a good deal of sense out of them, but I was able to gather that something was very, very wrong but I couldn't wake up and see what it was.

_"What language is that?"_

_"The poison is setting in."_

_"—nothing we can do?"_

_"He's getting worse…"_

Someone was always by my side whenever I was aware of my surroundings but still crushed beneath the pain and cover of darkness. I could feel something cold and soothing stroking my aching, fevered head sometimes. Someone held my hand at one point, and I think I heard someone crying.

But no matter what, whenever any level of awareness returned to me, there was someone sitting there at my side, refusing to leave. I couldn't see them, no, and I probably can't prove it, either, but I could sense their presence.

When I ask Gaius about it, he abruptly changed the subject, which means I have all the proof I need of who sat with me the entire time I was sick.

**.~*~.**

There was one dream I had while I was delirious that I remember in perfect detail. The thing is, I'm not entirely sure it  _was_  just a dream.

_It was dark, darker than anywhere I'd ever been. I was in a cave, I could tell because of the moist air that touched my skin and the way sounds (like a person gasping for breath, the clattering of a stone, or something crawly creeping up the wall of the cave) echoed eerily off the walls, rebounding to my ears. I didn't know why I was there, but whatever the reason, I had a strong feeling that it was extremely important._

_And then I heard a voice. "Who are you?" it screamed. I recognized that voice – it was Arthur!_

_Suddenly my eyes adjusted to the darkness so that I could see what was going on, although somehow it was still as pitch-dark as it had been. Arthur was hanging onto an edge by his fingertips, sword resting precariously on a ledge as he struggled not to fall into the seemingly bottomless abyss below him. Large creatures – were those? They were! Giant spiders – scaled the cave wall, red eyes gleaming hungrily as they encroached on their prey – Arthur._

_I didn't understand at first why he didn't do anything to help himself. And then I remembered that it was dark – so very dark. Arthur needed a light. And I did the only thing that made sense – I gave him a light._

**.~*~.**

I mentioned the dream to Gaius later, and he admitted that something very strange had happened. He said I had been mumbling in the language of the Old Religion, and that he had managed to convince Gwen it was just nonsense. But when I really started to incant, getting more agitated, Gaius told Gwen to fetch some water.

And then, according to Gaius, I had, while being completely unconscious, conjured a ball of light as I lay there. And I can't help but wonder if I had, without even knowing it, yet again saved Prince Arthur's life…

Gaius chuckled and said he wouldn't put it past me. It kind of shook me up to hear about it, though. Am I really that powerful? I don't know how strong my own power is, but Gaius said, yet again, that I must be pretty powerful to wield magic like that, especially when dying. It's kind of scary, not knowing your own strengths and limits.

**.~*~.**

I must have been really bad off after that, because the next thing I remember, I was slowly waking up from unconsciousness, clawing my way through the heat and the pain and the cold, clutching hands of death. I think I said something funny about the way Gaius was clinging onto Gwen and vice versa, but then Gwen kissed me and I forgot everything for a little while.

And, yet again, I am  _not_  in love with Gwen, but still…

That was a (very) nice "Welcome back," present all the same.

**.~*~.**

Gaius told me soon after I had woken up all that Arthur had done for me. He had defied his father, risked his life, and was now locked up in the dungeons for his efforts. As if this wasn't surprising enough in itself, imagine my shock when Arthur came to check up on me, to see how I was doing a few days later!

I was still a bit weak and shaky, but the poison had been, for the most part, flushed out of my system, and for that I was grateful. It had not been a pleasant experience and wasn't anything I want to repeat any time soon – or ever again.

I was getting ready for dinner, a scratchy blanket over my shoulders, when I heard his voice – loud and proud, as usual, but also with genuine concern in it. "Still alive, then?"

When I turned around to face him as he leaned on the back of the chair I was seated in, I could see the real concern in his eyes and I was struck, yet again, by the chance he had taken by risking it all to save me. He had saved my life.

I thanked him, and he regarded me for a minute, almost as if reassuring himself that I was indeed alive, before responding, "You too. Get some rest."

Gaius is right. Arthur may like to give me a hard time, but I'm starting to realize that he  _is_  a man of honor. What prince would risk his life for that of his servant? He may be a prat, but he's a brave one, and if I'm going to risk my life for a prince on a daily basis, I don't think there's one I'd rather risk it for than Prince Arthur.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I am at a loss to explain Merlin's insane loyalty to me.

Not that I'm not grateful; I am. This makes the – what? – second time he's saved my life now. I just can't figure out  _why_.

I know he hated me when we first met – he called me an ass and continues to call me a prat even now – and yet now, he shows extreme loyalty.

 _He drank from that cup when he_ knew _it was poisoned. He_ knew  _he would die, and he did it anyway. For me._

**.~*~.**

When Merlin burst into the hall, babbling on about how the chalice was poisoned, I thought he'd gone mad. Then I saw the look in his eyes and I knew he was perfectly sane and that he  _knew_  what he was talking about. He fully believed that the cup I had just been about to drink out of was poisoned. I was afraid of what my father would do to him for the interruption – after all, this  _was_  a feast to celebrate a treaty between Camelot and Mercia, a treaty that was  _years_  in the making, not to mention that the goblets were gifts from King Bayard himself as a testament to our new alliance.

I was relieved when father didn't kill Merlin on the spot and actually gave him a chance to explain. I believe his exact words were, "Now, unless you want to be strung up, tell me why you think it's poison." His words made me want to wince, but in all honesty, that's about as nice of a reaction you'll get from my father after running in and disrupting a treaty feast by blaming the other party of breaking the treaty.

But then…

Then my father decided to let  _Merlin_  taste test the wine in the chalice and my heart stopped beating for a second.

The same horror and desperation that consumed me when Merlin tried to take Guinevere's place on the pyre as a sorcerer washed over me then – a wave of fierce protectiveness. I still can't explain it, but I knew that I couldn't let this happen to Merlin, he couldn't die. I tried to convince my father, telling him that if he was telling the truth, he would  _die_ , but Father cares little for servants, even if they are performing some noble deed. I even tried to snatch the cup out of Merlin's hand, determined to drink it. I know it was rash and that many people present thought I was crazy for trying to take Merlin's place, but I just couldn't let it happen.

This was  _Merlin_  for heaven's sake; he couldn't die!

He pulled the cup away and said, "It's alright." I could see the turmoil in his eyes and I swallowed heavily. I knew then and there that it  _wasn't_ alright. Merlin knew he was going to die and he was terrified. Still, he drank from the goblet. He did it anyway, knowing the consequences.

And when he started choking, bringing a hand to his throat, the fear in my stomach intensified to a raging storm of terror. When he hit the ground, I was the first one by his side, literally throwing myself on my knees beside him. It may not have been appropriate for me to be so worried about the selfless idiot, but I didn't care. And if I am ever faced with a similar situation again – heaven forbid – I would do the exact same thing.

**.~*~.**

Merlin was nothing but dead weight when I brought him to Gaius's chambers and laid him on the bed. Gaius's words kept echoing in my head:  _He's struggling to breathe._

No, that wasn't right, it couldn't be happening.  _Mer_ lin couldn't be struggling to do something as natural as breathing. But he was. I could see it with my own eyes and I can still see him, gulping for air, his brow beaded with sweat, in obvious pain. I hated, absolutely  _despised_ seeing him in such a state. I've seen illness, and I've seen death, but on Merlin, it was just  _wrong._  He's not a knight, not strong – his body isn't made to withstand poison or injuries in the slightest. Merlin's so slight, so naïve, so loyal… to see him unconscious, having to battle a poison that my own father forced him to drink…

I still find it hard to think about.

Before Gaius even told me about the difficulty of the quest for the cure, I knew I was going to go. No matter what, despite whatever forces attempted to stop me, disregarding the consequences, I was going to do whatever it took to save Merlin. And if I am ever put in that kind of position again, I wouldn't change a thing.

Gaius tried to change my mind, to convince me otherwise, and I knew that it was killing him to do so. I've seen Gaius with Merlin, and although he's gruff – he scares  _me_  sometimes, for heaven's sake! – I can tell that Merlin has become  _more_  than a son to our Court Physician. I'm almost envious. They've only known each other for a couple of months now, and yet Gaius and Merlin's relationship is already stronger and healthier than mine with my own father.

Ah.  _My father…_

**.~*~.**

My father is a good man, I think, at heart, but he has an entirely different view of the world. He doesn't see people in general. He looks around him and sees three different  _kinds_ of people; first, the  _important_ people – royalty, nobles, loved ones, allies – secondly,  _the_  people – the people of Camelot as a whole, everyone within his kingdom – and thirdly, the  _unimportant_ people – the people who make up  _the_ people, the  _individuals_ , like the occasional commoner or servant that meanders into his line of sight.

I know – it's confusing, and it took me a while to decipher my father's thought processing. But growing up, watching him, I've found that it's true. He cares about important people and, yes, although some might argue, he cares about  _the_  people of Camelot. But those individuals that come into his life, like servants, commoners, that aren't, at the moment, lumped into one big group of "the people"? He cares very little for.  _Sacrifice one or two of_ the _people for the rest of them, and the important ones._

That's just what he did to Merlin. He  _said_  that if King Bayard had poisoned my goblet that he wanted the pleasure of killing him himself. And I suppose that was partially true – Father does have a sort of bloodlust at times,  _especially_  when it comes to traitors – but I could see it in his eyes. That wasn't all. If Bayard  _wasn't_  a traitor, Father would have been in a  _lot_ of trouble had he made him drink from the cup. With Bayard's death, war would have broken out. Also, since the treaty was signed, Bayard and Father had become close friends. If what Merlin said was not true, Uther would have ultimately killed a valuable friend and ally.

So even though there was a chance that Bayard was a traitor, Father  _still_  sacrificed Merlin's life – an "unimportant" person's life – for another, potentially important person's life. That is bothersome within itself, but when I take into account that the person he risked was the one who had given him the information in the first place, that was trying to do good, trying to save my life… And of course, there's the fact that the life in question was Merlin's. I haven't figured out just what it is about the idiot that makes me so protective of him, but the point still remains – Father was willing to kill Merlin, to have him drink a deadly poison, all without a second thought.

All those things he kept saying about Merlin really ground at my conscious and increased my anger to my father. First he forces my servant to drink the poison, then he doesn't allow me to go on the quest to save him, and then all those words he spoke…

"Because his life's worthless?"

_No, because it's 'worth less' than yours._

"I can save him!"

_I will not let you jeopardize the future of this kingdom over some kind of fool's errand!_

"I will not just stand here and watch him die!"

_Then don't look._

And that's not even mentioning what he did later, when I brought the cure back for Merlin…

**.~*~.**

I'm grateful that Morgana came to convince me to go find the cure. Not that I wouldn't have come to the same decision on my own. In all honesty, I think my mind was already made up before she even entered my chambers. But I guess I just needed time to think. My father had said some things that really shook me to the core, expressed some ideas that make me stop and think – ideas that at the same time made sense to me and repulsed me.

Father didn't want me to go because I'm the future king of Camelot, the Crown Prince. If I were to die, he would be left without an heir and without a son. That  _was_  a good point, and one that, had I decided to do what Father wanted and turn a blind eye on Merlin's suffering, would have been the linchpin of my decision. I care about my people, very much. If my father died without an heir, the people of Camelot would be left without a ruler and without stability. They would be at the mercy of anyone that had their eyes on Camelot's prosperity.

But the thing is, I also care about Merlin. I don't know why, but I do. When Father and I were arguing, I told him that my motivation for saving Merlin was because Merlin had saved  _my_ life. And that's true. But there was something else…

_I wasn't just going to stand by and watch Merlin die._

The thought of Merlin, of all people, dying theslow and painful death that Gaius spoke of was – and is still – unfathomable. I only wish that I had been quicker, because from what little Gwen and Gaius have revealed to me, since it took nearly two days for me to get the cure to Merlin, he went through all the suffering part – the "slow and painful" – and was just inches away from the aforementioned "death." It shakes me to know how close I was to losing Merlin and baffles me to think how much it terrifies me.

**.~*~.**

The quest in itself was not too bad. Sure, there were the enormous cave spiders... the beautiful woman that betrayed me and left me to die… the dangling from a narrow rock face in a dark cave, looming above my death… the fierce and poisonous "one bite kills all" bundle of scales Cockatrice… but other than that… hey, no problem.

Two things about the quest really stood out in my mind, however: the girl, beautiful and treacherous, and the light, calming and mysterious.

**.~*~.**

_The girl._

I should have realized from the beginning that something about her was off. After all, she said that she had run away from her master and gotten lost… but then, when the time came, she said that she  _knew_  this place and could take me  _right_  to the very flower I was searching for. I'll admit – it was stupid of me, but for the record, I think that she used her magic to enchant me somehow, make my intelligence not as sharp as usual. Merlin would scoff at this assumption, but I can give him extra chores, so it all evens out.

Anyway, the girl. When she first started doing magic, I was frightened, naturally, but I thought that maybe, just _maybe_ , she would use her powers for good, to help me reach the Morteus. Father would have my hide if he knew I thought that, but after the idea that some magic could be used for good a week or so ago, when  _someone_ used magic to cure Gwen's father, I thought that perhaps magic was more than just evil.

I'm still struggling with these thoughts. After the ledge beneath my feet began to crack and crumble and the woman's voice got harsher, louder, I knew that she  _was_  evil and that she  _was_  trying to kill me. And after having someone attempt to take your life with magic, it's a bit difficult to hold on to the tiny suspicion that there's more to magic than just ill intent.

But  _someone_  used it to heal Gwen's father.

Hmm… perhaps the same person that used magic for good to cure Gwen's father used it for good to help me out of the cave…

Yeah, right. The probability of that is slim to none. Although, after all the close calls I've had, with the bad guys _just_  managing to be stopped in the nick of time, I've begun to wonder if maybe I  _do_  have some sort of guardian angel out there watching over me.

**.~*~.**

_The light._

Not much can be said about the light. I don't know who sent it or where it came from. I just know that it came right in the nick of time, right when I needed it the most.

And it was magic.

This magic was somehow  _different_  than the woman's magic. Hers had been dark, cruel, and deceitful. This had been warm, innocent, pure. If there's a such thing as good and wholesome magic, this was it. I didn't mention it to my father, of course, but still…

I haven't been able to get that light out of my mind.

**.~*~.**

I wasn't surprised that father had me arrested when I arrived back in Camelot, or that he put me in jail. He's a proud man and when his own son, the Crown Prince of Camelot, blatantly disobeys him, there is going to be a consequence. I just wish I could have foreseen how far he was going to go with his punishment.

 _He was, for all intents and purposes, going to_ kill _Merlin._

When he crushed that flower in his hand, the world stopped spinning.

_My father was going to let Merlin die to punish me for trying to save him._

It was so utterly, horribly,  _wrong_. I wanted to yell at him, to throw a fit like a child, anything, because it broke my heart to see my father acting so… tyrannical. I know that as a king, he has to make hard decisions, as will I, and that sacrifices sometimes  _must_  be made, but this was no sacrifice. There was no  _need_  for Merlin to die, there never was a  _need_ , especially when the cure was right there, so close to him.

_It was murder._

I don't think I've ever hated my father or felt such a strong sense of rebellion against him in that moment. After I walked away, saying something about how when he let me out in a week, I could find myself a new servant, I was desperate to get that crumpled flower lying outside of my cell. It was the only hope I had left, even if it was down here with me while Merlin was upstairs dying.

When I finally reached it, I just held it, sitting there on the cold, dirty floor with it sitting gently in my shaking hands.

I cannot describe the relief that washed over me when I saw Guinevere with that tray of food. I knew she'd come to see if I had the Morteus and I was only too happy to give it to her.

Then all I could do was sit in the cell, praying that she got to him in time and that Merlin would live.

**.~*~.**

Although Morgana came to inform me that Merlin was alive and slowly on the road to recovery, I wouldn't fully believe it until I saw him, awake and lucid, for myself. Again – why did I care? The answer still eludes me, although I suppose that I have come to accept that I  _do_  care about the idiot's well-being, at least marginally.

At any rate, it was an agonizingly slow wait until Father let me out of the dungeon – a few days early, I might add, what with his release of Bayard and acceptance that this was all a very clever scheme by an extremely wicked sorceress. I had to deal with my father and the peace treaty and the ordeal with Bayard before I could do anything else, but as soon as I was able to break away from Father, I went straight to see how Merlin was doing.

I was glad to see that he was doing a lot better, although his face was still pale and his eyes were a bit dulled – from the pain, exhaustion, or both, I didn't ask. I was just relieved to see him alive. Of course, I didn't exactly tell him that in so many words, but surely he got the picture. After all, I didn't make him jump right back into the job – even though I had some  _seriously_  dirty clothes after running around after that flower. I had been planning on dragging him back to my chambers to do some more work, but when I saw how pale and weak he still looked, sitting – quietly at that! – at the table, a rough and scratchy blanket over his shoulders, my defenses broke and I decided to give him the evening off.

He's mostly better now, fumbling around like the idiot I know and, well, tolerate. Sometimes, though, I can still see moments where his eyes dull, if only for a second, and I realize that he hasn't quite moved past this yet.

_That had to be scary._

The sincerity on his face when he thanked me was enough to show me how close he really had come to dying and how much what I'd done meant to him.

Well, I suppose if I'm going to go gallivanting off to save a servant's life, it'll be Merlin's. After all, he's entertaining if nothing else, even if he is a world-class idiot.


	5. Lancelot

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

When someone does something good for me, something selfless and honorable, I  _have_  to return the favor.

I'm not saying that it's something I'm obligated to do, of course not, and it's not just because of principle either. It's because I have a genuine desire to help people, and when they help me first, that desire is multiplied.

I honestly can't say why I froze up when the griffon attacked. If I had been thinking straight, I would have tried to defend myself, to use magic,  _anything_  but lying there like a helpless idiot waiting for some stranger to come along and save me – not that I regret that a stranger came along and saved me, mind you. I'm very grateful.

Still, I wish that I would have been a little more offensive with the creature instead of freezing in fright. Not that using my magic would have been much good in that situation anyway, considering it was only after looking up and learning a new spell and practicing that I was able to defeat the griffon. But maybe I could have done _something_  to protect myself.

Perhaps I would have, had Lancelot not come along. After all, as the Great Dragon feels the need to tell me every time I visit him, I apparently have a great destiny, and I suppose I can't very well fulfill it and help Arthur become a great king if I'm griffon chow.

**.~*~.**

I liked Lancelot right away. I'm already missing him, and he only left a few hours ago.

He's very passionate about what he believes in, and I think that was the main reason I felt such a strong need to help him obtain what he most desired. He saved my life from the griffon, propelling me into action and trying to fight the animal off, getting wounded in the process. I honestly can't think of anyone worthier of becoming a knight of Camelot.

I know that what I did was technically wrong, and I  _do_ regret it, but not because of the moral implications, but because of the situation I put Lancelot in. I should have never pressured him into pretending to be the son of a noble so that he could become a knight. But the code is wrong.

So what if Lancelot isn't a noble? He may not be  _a_  noble, but he  _is_  noble. A man that will risk his life to save someone that he has never met is a great man indeed. At the same time, there are noblemen out there that may have the title but there is not a trace or sign of true nobility in their hearts. I believe that the knight's code should be based on a person's honor, not their title. A noble can be just as untrustworthy as an uncommon thug, so how is it fair that they get so much more trust just because of the family they were born into?

It just doesn't make sense.

I guess that's another reason why I was so eager for Lancelot to become a knight.

**.~*~.**

When Lancelot slyly tricked Arthur and managed to beat him during his test, I knew that Arthur was impressed. He may have looked stern, maybe even angry, to Lancelot and those around him, but I could tell. I've been Arthur's servant for a few months now, and I can read him probably better than most anyone. He's a prat, no doubt, but he's a noble that  _does_  have some nobility, or at least the potential to be noble, in him. He's not just a title, and I've come to respect him for that, more than I ever care to let him know.

And I admit, I may have had one too many drinks at the celebration of my new friend's knighting, but it's not every day that I can get drinks for free! And I was excited, because Lancelot looked so happy and Arthur looked like he really liked and respected Lancelot. I knew that Lancelot would be a great knight and I was so eager for Arthur to see it as well.

It looked like, for a short, sweet time, that everything was going to work out for once.

And then, naturally, it all fell apart.

**.~*~.**

When Lancelot was dragged to the dungeons, it took everything I had not to jump up and confess that I was the one who forged his seal of nobility. Knowing Arthur, the noble prat he is, he would have thought I was just trying to stick up for my new friend. He probably would have made up some ridiculous, outlandish excuse for me to his father, trying to cover my hide and keep me from getting in trouble like he did when I confessed to being a sorcerer to save Gwen.

Speaking of Gwen… there was definitely some sort of  _something_  going on between her and Lancelot. The first time they met, when Gwen was measuring him for the tunic, it was as if something just clicked. I could see it, sense it.

Too bad Lancelot didn't get to stay. He and Gwen would have made a fine couple, and perhaps Arthur would finally stop raving on about how I'm in love with Gwen –  _which I'm not._

**.~*~.**

Lancelot told me not to blame myself, yet I am still doing that, if only just a bit.

If I hadn't gotten the bright idea to make his dreams come true by lying, none of this would have ever happened.

Then again, if I hadn't gotten the bright idea to make his dreams come true by lying, Arthur would have never seen what a noble and honorable heart Lancelot has, and Lancelot would have  _no_  chance of returning to Camelot in the future and regaining the knighthood that he deserves.

I still firmly believe that someday Lancelot will become a great knight.

**.~*~.**

I'll admit it – the thought of facing the griffon again scared me.

I don't think it was as much fear of the griffon itself, but fear of what would happen inside of me when I saw it again. You see, after I froze in terror the first time I encountered it, no spell or incantation or any other form of protecting myself coming to my aid, I realized that I have another fear. A fear… of being afraid.

Sounds dumb, I know. But that moment, when the griffon was bearing down on me and the fear washed over me, where I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think… It wasn't exactly the griffon that scared me more than I care to admit. It was that deep, gnawing fear that I never want to feel again.

I snapped at Gaius, and I can't say how many times I've apologized to him for doing so. I can't believe that I actually accused him of not caring about what happens to me. I was just so nervous, so afraid that I was going to feel that all-consuming terror again. Gaius has threatened to brain me with a ladle if I say I'm sorry one more time.

Needless to say, I've stopped apologizing.

**.~*~.**

I would have been perfectly content to let Lancelot get the credit for my killing the griffon. Not only because I am used to giving other people credit for what I do – namely Arthur – but because I genuinely believed that Lancelot deserved the chance to redeem himself.

And I have to admit, I feel so much better now that Gaius is not the only one who knows my secret. I just wished that Lancelot hadn't left to go prove himself. He's very honorable, but I feel that he was already worthy to be a knight. So even though I'm not alone in my secret anymore, the other person that knows has left, and now I am all but alone in my secret again.

I have to say, though, I am extremely proud of Arthur. I know that he went against the knight's code and fought for Lancelot's right to become a knight. It is because of this that I know that someday, Arthur will be a great king, greater than his father could ever dream to be.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Lancelot.

I've learned a great deal from the man. I've always been a stickler for the code, for the knight's rules, but Lancelot, in just a few short days, has turned my views upside down.

**.~*~.**

When Merlin first told me that he had a friend that wanted to become a knight, I couldn't help but laugh. His qualifications? He'd saved Merlin's life. That in itself isn't too impressive, as Merlin is little more than a damsel in distress. Still, once Merlin told me that his friend was a noble – where did Merlin find himself a noble friend, I remember wondering – I agreed to meet with him.

I was impressed.

Of course, I couldn't let Lancelot know that he  _looked_  perfect to be a knight. I exploited the weakness I saw – sluggish reaction – with the hope that he would not back down. I was rewarded when he didn't.

People who don't understand knighthood most likely think that my methods are cruel. What they do not understand is that if a person is to become a knight, they must have no discernable weakness. If I see any sign of weakness, no matter how small, I  _have_ to exploit it. If I don't, and the knight is put in a dangerous position, someone  _else_  could exploit that same weakness that I overlooked, but then it would be too late.

I've had some nobles get angry and storm off like petulant children when I've told them they're not ready. I half expected Lancelot to do the same, but I am pleased to say that he did not. He obediently took every humiliation I threw at him and did every job assigned to him the right way the first time. I wish he would have stayed in Camelot, if only to teach Merlin more about his work ethic.

**.~*~.**

I can't even begin to put into words how furious I was when I found out that Lancelot wasn't a noble; that he had been lying to me the whole time. But that wasn't all that I was angry about.

You see, while the lies and forgery  _did_  upset me, what made me even angrier was the fact that, despite his lies, undermined everything that the knight's code stood for. I only knew Lancelot for a few days and I knew without a doubt that his character was pure. I can only assume that he didn't think up the idea of forging his seal of nobility himself – Merlin probably gave him a little push.

I could have Merlin punished for that, but I would never do so. Although the man is an idiot, if there's one thing I admire about him, it's that he has a good heart and is a great friend. Not that he's  _my_  friend, mind you –that's totally inappropriate for a prince and servant to be friends – but he, Gwen, and Morgana seem to get on really well.

What I mean is – Merlin owed Lancelot a debt, but I could tell from the loyalty and friendship he showed the knight-to-be that it was more than just that. Merlin just seems to have this… I don't know, I suppose I would call it a longing, to make others happy. Apparently Lancelot has had a difficult past and it is his dream to become a knight of Camelot and somehow try to ease the pain of losing his family. At least that's what I was able to discern from Merlin's nearly incoherent babbling after Lancelot left.

Anyway, Lancelot. He made me angry because he's such a good man, honorable, the way a knight should be. For heaven's sake, he only lied about his parentage so that he could serve! If that's not extreme loyalty, I don't know what is. And I would  _love_  to have Lancelot as one of my knights. We could really use a man like him.

I knew that I could have gotten into big trouble for letting Lancelot go after he had been arrested, but I couldn't just stand by and watch a good man who made one mistake rot in the dungeons. He deserves to be free and to chase his dream. I had half a mind to get him to ride out with us when we went to fight the griffon, but my father would have never approved.

It came to the point later, after Lancelot had killed the griffon –  _killed it!_  – that I found I didn't really care if my father approved. As far as I was concerned, Lancelot had proven his honor and worth tenfold. But it wasn't enough for him. He decided that he wasn't going to return to Camelot to become a knight until he proved to _himself_  that he was worth of the title.

I don't care what Father says about the subject any more – if the knight's code says that men like that can't serve, then the knight's code is wrong.

That's what I call honor.


	6. A Remedy to Cure All Ills

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I can't believe how stupid I was. I was working with Edwin, talking to him, even thinking about learning from him, and there he was, the whole time, plotting behind my back, using me. Using me as a pawn to get to Gaius. And I let him. I didn't see it. I may have suspected something wasn't entirely right once or twice, but I quickly banished those unwelcome thoughts from my mind. Why? Because I  _wanted_ to trust him.

He had magic, and because of that, I wanted – needed – to make that connection, that bond of trust. Before then, the only people I had met that had or used magic had had ill intentions – the woman impersonating Lady Helen, Knight Valiant, and Cara, otherwise known as the witch Nimueh. But Edwin didn't seem to be like that. He was odd, no doubt about it, and perhaps a bit shifty, but I didn't see an underlying plot, at least not at first. And when he offered to teach me magic…

What you have to understand is that I, as a warlock living in the heart of magic-purged Camelot, am very much alone. Usually I try not to let it bother me because what good will that do? But sometimes it all becomes increasingly difficult. Only Gaius, my mother, and my friend Will know about my magic. Mother and Will aren't nearby, and even if they were, they still don't understand. Not really. They don't have magic – how can they understand? They can try to relate, but it all boils down to the fact that I am alone even among my closest friends and family.

And then there's Gaius. The man that has welcomed me into his small home, given me a magic book to study, and has been teaching me from the beginning how magic is supposed to be used. But even he does not fully comprehend my struggles. It's so hard not being able to be myself. Because that's what my magic is – it's me. I'm not someone  _with_  magic, I'm a creature of magic. The dragon told me that I'm something that's never happened before, and so did Gaius, but instead of making me feel special or significant, it just strengthens the feeling that I am  _alone._

That is why, when I med Edwin, when I found out that he had magic and he discovered that I did as well, I entertained, no matter how briefly, the idea that I wasn't on my own any more. I had someone who sympathized, who understood.

I should have never trusted him. I should have never thought that he was anything more than yet another grief-ridden victim bent on revenge. It seems ever other sorcerer in the world wants to kill – not protect – Camelot. It seems I am truly alone in the world.

But when it came down to it, came down to the moment when it was either kill another man, another sorcerer, or allow my mentor, my friend to die, it was a no-brainer. Perhaps even though no one really understands completely how I feel, but I'm not alone. After all, Edwin had nobody. But I have friends – Gaius, Gwen, Morgana, and yes, even Arthur, that although they do not know everything about me, are there for me regardless, in their own way.

Too bad Arthur's own way is making me muck out his horses after asking rather haughtily if I'm okay. But at least it's something. Nice to know he does care, and the fact that he – along with Morgana – stood up for Gaius when Edwin was trying to replace him, was very reassuring.

All in all, I'm just glad that we all made it out alive – well, all of us that mattered, anyway. I just hope no one asks how that axe came to be embedded in Edwin's head…

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I believe that everyone is a bit shaken by what happened with this man, this sorcerer – Edwin, the man who said he could cure all ills.

Perhaps I shouldn't have trusted him. Maybe I shouldn't have allowed him to look at Morgana. But if it hadn't been for him, despite the fact that he was the one who did this to her in the first place, she would probably be dead by now. If it wasn't for Gaius intervening and showing the truth – although how Edwin wound up with an axe in his skull is beyond me – then Morgana wouldn't have survived.

It's all so confusing. When he healed Morgana, I really thought that he was trying to help. That he  _cared_  about helping people. I should have known better.  _Gaius_ , on the other hand, he  _does_  care about others, the people he treats. When Edwin began to shoot down Gaius's hard work, I began to get suspicious. I was actually quite surprised that my father was taking him so seriously. I know that he saved Morgana's life, but even so, to take the word of a stranger over your most loyal advisor and closest friend?

What bothered me the most about this whole business was something I noticed a few times when Merlin and I were in the same room as Edwin. I had told Edwin when Morgana was sick that he could use Merlin as long as he needed. But the day after Morgana was better, I noticed that every so often, Edwin would look at Merlin, an unreadable – almost greedy, cruel – gleam in his eyes. It unnerved me.

Whenever Merlin would go with the man to help him out, I wanted to pull Merlin away from him. The look that Edwin seemed to fix him with was kind of possessive and dangerous. Like he would hurt Merlin if someone gave him a reason to. Maybe I imagined it, but still, it unnerved me to the core.

I asked Merlin about his time working with Edwin after the man's death. Merlin seemed a little evasive but not traumatized, so hopefully that means that Edwin didn't actually threaten or – heaven forbid – hurt him. Because even though I still have no idea where the feelings come from, I find that I'm still extremely protective of Merlin. The thought of anyone intentionally harming him makes me ill.

And the fact that I care makes me even more annoyed – but I can always take out my annoyance on the focal point of my irritation when he comes in to clean my armor…

I'm just glad that Morgana is well again, the sorcerer is dead (I still don't understand  _how_ ), my father is alive, and that things are back to normal.

Unfortunately, normal in Camelot isn't exactly… normal.


	7. The Gates of Avalon

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I really am a terrible liar.

I should have never agreed to take the blame for Arthur, should have never even considered lying to the king. I should have never trusted Sophia from the start. If there is one thing I've learned from the events of the past few days, it's that anyone – even someone with the face of a goddess – can be evil.

I found out that Arthur can have enemies of all genders and appearances. It's not just big ugly brutes or other snooty prats or old, wrinkled grieving mothers that want a piece of him. I mean, I know Nimueh is beautiful – very beautiful – but she was more after me than Arthur. She didn't even kill him herself when she had the chance.

But Sophia…

_She was going to sacrifice him to gain herself a life of immortality._

Talk about selfish.

**.~*~.**

I admit, when I first laid eyes on Sophia, I was thinking on the same lines as Arthur.

Something in the neighborhood of,  _Gee, she's pretty…_  Yeah. We'll go with that.

But now that I look back on that first meeting in the woods, it occurs to me that there was more to the girl and her companion than met the eye. For one, I could feel… something. Now I believe that it must have been the magic shimmering around them, because as Sidhe, their power was enormous. I wish I would have been able to recognize the magic for what it was, but I'm new to sensing others' magic.

Besides, the buzzing in my head could have been from the nervousness I felt from being so close to her. She really  _was_  pretty. Of course, as soon as I saw Arthur take her hand and kiss it, an entranced gleam in his eyes, I _knew_  I would wind up in the stocks if I tried to pursue Sophia.

Not that I really minded. Of course I thought she was pretty, but I didn't feel any connection or feelings to her. Besides, she was under the guise as a noble so I'd have had no chance anyway. Girls can be pretty but just not appeal to me. That was how Sophia was.

Anyway, as soon as Arthur laid eyes on her, I knew he was utterly, hopelessly besotted.

I should have known their little fling wouldn't end well.

**.~*~.**

I was a little unnerved when Morgana stopped me in the corridor, beautiful green-gray eyes wide and fearful. She looked haunted but that only served to make her even more elegant. I realized then that Morgana is much more lovely than Sophia could ever dream to be. I'm not entirely sure why that thought entered my head – Morgana is even more forbidden than Sophia. Not that I'm interested. It was just a neutral observation, after all.

But she demanded to know who Sophia was. When I told her, she said forcefully that she couldn't stay here. She was scare, there was no doubt about it. Sophia frightened Morgana. Why someone was tall, refined, and confident as Morgana was intimidated by the young, soft-spoken, rather short-of-stature Sophia, I couldn't figure out.

When I asked Morgana if something was wrong, her eyes clouded over – now a stormy gray, still enchanting – and she didn't answer for a moment. She told me she was fine. And I, being the idiot I am well known for being in Camelot ( _especially_  after recent events with the king, but I'll talk about that later), believed her.

It was so obvious that she was lying. Yet I accepted her word instantly.

In my defense, I was in a rush to tend to Arthur and everyone knows what he's like when he's angry… But what's even more entertaining is when he's in love… provided that the apple of his eye isn't trying to poison him, that is.

Sophia turned out to be a poisoned apple in the end.

**.~*~.**

As it turned out, Arthur hadn't called me to help him get ready for patrol.

 _No._ He wanted me to lie to his father –  _the king!_  – so that he could  _skip_  said patrol and spend time with Sophia. I could have said no. After all, Arthur was right – I may be his servant, but even the prince can't  _order_  me to lie to the king. His words kept bouncing around in my head, though.

"You'd be a friend for life if you did."

That was the first time Arthur ever referred to me as a  _friend._  As stupid as it must sound, that's the reason I agreed to lie to Uther and risk getting flogged (although it's not a time of war, so I just got put in the stocks – multiple times, mind you). I have to wonder now, though, how much sincerity was in his words. I know he was enchanted the next time I spoke to him about Sophia, but still, the way he denied me being his friend hurt more than I thought it would.  _I'm your friend. "No, you're my servant."_ And the way he said get out… chilled me to the bone. Not that I would ever admit it.

And despite what Arthur said the first time – that he wouldn't forget it – I know that he's already forgotten both of the instances – the one where he told me I was his friend and the one where he told me I was just a servant.

**.~*~.**

When Ulfric and Sophia entered Arthur's chambers, I knew there was going to be trouble. Gaius had informed me how dangerous the Sidhe are and, to put it mildly, those two particular mortal-bodied Sidhe did  _not_  seem to be in a good mood. In fact, they looked downright deadly.

The thing is, I almost got through to Arthur. He was shaking his head muttering something along the lines of, "It… it doesn't make sense… I love her." I could tell, I just  _knew_  that he was trying to reason between what I was telling him and what the enchantment had done to him. And then they did something else to him.

When Arthur turned around, eyes as red as the blood Sophia was willing to shed to save her own life, it chilled me to the bone. And when I rushed at Ulfric, he did nothing to stop the former-Sidhe from blasting me with a brutal bout of energy from his Sidhe staff and sending me careening into the wall. Again, I know he was enchanted, but still… he just stood and watched.

Of course, I didn't have time to contemplate that for very long, because as soon as the back of my head smacked the stone wall of Arthur's room, my world went black.

**.~*~.**

_That stupid buzzing noise…_

That's the first thing I noticed when I woke up to Gaius leaning over me, his face more worried than I'd ever seen it. It took me a few minutes to remember what had happened and why my head was hurting so, so bad – not to mention my chest where Ulfric's magic hit me – but I had to push the pain aside. And that's what I did.

I convinced Gaius that I was fine. Well, I should say I  _tried_  to convince him I was fine. I don't think that he believed me, seeing as when I told him the buzzing had stopped (it hadn't), he responded by snapping, "Liar!" Gaius can be a cranky old man when he wants to be. But he was just concerned for me (which is touching but unnecessary; I can take care of myself despite what many people seem to think – really, I can!) so it's okay that he snapped at me.

But it didn't matter that Gaius was worried or that I was probably in no condition to go running about trying to save Arthur from certain death yet again (even after he stood there and watched while I got thrown against the wall by a bolt of magic that would have  _killed_ me if it weren't for the fact that my magic protected me!). And yes, I know – he was enchanted. But still.

Anyway. All that really mattered was that I got to Arthur in time. Before Sophia sacrificed him to the Sidhe to gain a life of immortality and passage into Avalon.

Again – what a selfish Sidhe-girl. I  _really_  don't know what Arthur saw in her.

**.~*~.**

I'd like to say that I didn't feel guilty about killing Ulfric and Sophia. I'd like to say that I did what was necessary and I don't regret blasting them into smithereens. But that would be a lie.

I don't like killing. Never have. But I  _did_  do what was necessary to save Arthur. Ulfric and Sophia were powerful Sidhe, and when I used Ulfric's staff to disintegrate him (I'll admit, though, I lost less sleep about blasting him, because I've got a bruise on my chest the size of my fist and a lump on the back of my head that still throbs!), it was the only thing I  _could_  do. If I had hesitated to finish them off, then and there, they would have killed me. It was kill or be killed. And I couldn't die.

I have a destiny to protect Arthur, and I couldn't afford to be stopped when my prince and my friend (yes, he's my friend even if I'm just a servant to him) was drowning.

Even though it was necessary, I still feel guilty. I'm keeping the staff as a reminder of what almost happened. What this kind of power can do. And to remind me that sometimes sacrifices have to be made, even if they are against your moral standard.

Plus, that Sidhe staff might prove to be  _really_  useful someday…

**.~*~.**

When all was said and done, Arthur tried to push the incident out of his mind. Not so for me. For one, I'm  _still_ suffering from the after-effects of the attack. It's kind of hard to forget getting thrown against a stone wall by a crazed fairy wielding a stick. It's one of those experiences that remains in your mind, making you question your sanity.  _Did that really happen?_

Ow. I  _really_ need to stop touching the knot on the back of my head. But at least it confirms it – it really  _did_ happen.

Oh, and the other thing that I gained from the last couple of days – an even bigger reputation of being an idiot. And I quote from King Uther Pendragon: "Do you have some kind of mental affliction?"

Hm. Great to see all my heroic and noble efforts to save his bloody kingdom and prattish heir are appreciated.

So goes the sad song of the lamenting hero…

Fine. I'll stop trying to pull at your heartstrings and let Arthur tell you  _his_ version of the story. But don't expect it to be very deep or insightful. After all, he spent the last few days enchanted, snogging a girl that wanted him dead…

A real page-turner, I'm sure.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I don't really remember much of what happened the past few days.

I remember seeing Sophia in the forest. She was beautiful, soft light brown hair tumbling down her shoulders, pale, perfect complexion, soft lips, alluring eyes…

Then I remember wanting to go riding with her. I convinced Merlin to lie to my father for me, told him I'd be a friend for life if he did. Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. After all, we really  _can't_  be friends. It's against what society expects.

After that day in the forest, though, it all begins to get fuzzy, events running together. Even now I'm not sure what are memories and what are figments of my imagination.

**.~*~.**

_She was angry about something… "Don't touch that!" … The rest of the day was normal, I think, going by in a blur… the next time we were together, she said some words…_

_…our lips meeting… Morgana telling me to stay away from her… asking father for permission to marry… guards arresting Sophia… yelling at Merlin… Merlin's hurt face… Merlin trying to tell me that something was wrong…_

_My mind trying to figure it out… Sophia's kisses… a blast of blue light… Merlin? … Merlin smacking against a wall… me, walking away…_  No, surely that hadn't happened. I would  _never_  walk away when Merlin was hurt. Besides, he seemed fine in training today, although he  _did_  complain about having a headache…

Nah, I'm sure it was a coincidence.

But after that, I don't remember anything until I woke up in my own bed. Gaius and Merlin were staring at me. According to them, I'd decided to elope with Sophia. I was unreasonable and so Merlin knocked me out with a lump of wood.

A. Lump. Of. Wood.

 _What the hell is that supposed to mean?_  Because I  _know_  that it does  _not_ mean that Merlin knocked me out with a lump of bloody wood! I accepted that pathetic, poorly-constructed evasion of the truth (because I don't  _get_ knocked out by anyone, let alone scrawny, cheeky, annoying servants, thank you very much) only because I'm not sure I really  _want_  to know what really happened.

Ha. A lump of wood. As if.

The odds of  _Mer_ lin, the idiot, managing to knock  _me_  out are almost as ridiculous as the thought of him being a sorcerer like he claimed while trying to save Gwen. Who he loves. Even if he denies it.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I am  _not_ in love with Gwen.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Shut up, Merlin.

Anyway, as I was saying, I don't believe for a second Merlin and Gaius's story. But if the truth is so bad (so humiliating) that they feel they have to lie about it (and even the lie was humiliating, for heaven's sake!), then I think I'll just leave well enough alone.

But, I must emphasize this one last time –  _Merlin did_ not _knock me out with a lump of wood._

And it just serves to support my theory that he  _does_  have some sort of mental affliction that he even thinks he could accomplish such a feat.

* * *


	8. The Beginning of the End

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Gwen wasn't kidding when she said that Morgana was acting strange about the boy, Mordred. At first I thought Gwen was just being paranoid, but after Morgana snapped at me, all but  _forcing_  me to go along with an escape plan that I wasn't too sure of myself, I began to realize that perhaps there was more to this… bond they shared than what met the eye.

I don't know exactly  _why_  the first place I ran to with the boy when the guards were after us was Morgana's chambers. I'd like to say that it was because I knew Gwen would be there, and she would also take pity on the hunted Druid child, but I know that deep down, it didn't effectively portray my motives.

It was because I know Morgana. I have worked with her before, once, to save Gwen – who I am NOT in love with , Arthur Pendragon! – and I know how she cares about people, even those with magic. I  _knew_  she'd help me protect him.

Wow, was I right.

**.~*~.**

The Great Dragon said that Mordred will bring about Arthur's doom.

_How could I have been so STUPID?_

To risk everything, our destinies, Arthur's  _life_ , for a boy I just met? After I had been warned  _not_  to help him, to do nothing while the  _child_  was killed for being a Druid, for the magic he had? How could I have gone anyway, given in to Mordred's pleading, knowing that if I helped him out he could very well turn on Arthur in the future?

Then again, how could I  _not_  help?

To let a child die, to do nothing when I had the power to stop it, the authority to save his life, is barbaric. But is it even more barbaric than risking my best friend's life? More barbaric than what could essentially destroy Arthur, myself, and our destiny?

That had to have been the hardest decision I've ever been forced to make. And trust me, I've had to make some _extremely_ difficult decisions.

**.~*~.**

As I lay there on my bed, trying to decide what I should do, I thought I would go mad. I remember it perfectly – the swirling, crazy emotions running rampant, torturing me. How could I just abandon Arthur when he was counting on me? How could I let a little boy die because of something that hasn't even happened yet? How could I let Arthur die because I didn't have the stomach to let Mordred be executed.  _How could I?_

Like I said, I've had to make some tough choices before.

_To use magic or not to save Arthur when Mary Collins threw the knife at him._

_To risk my life or not for Arthur after he told me to get lost._

_To heal Gwen's father or let matters take their course._

_To give myself up to save Gwen, who I am not in love with._

_To drink the poison meant for Arthur._

_To convince Lancelot to lie or not._

_To let Edwin train me in magic or not._

_To attack Sophia or spare her and risk losing Arthur…_

So many decisions. Sometimes I've made the right one, other times I haven't. But this time, I'm still not sure if what I did was the right thing or not.

I couldn't just leave them to get caught – Arthur would be in serious trouble if his father found out he was helping the Druid boy escape. And the boy himself… Despite what the dragon told me, he  _is_  just a boy. Are our fates really as set in stone as the Great Dragon seems to believe? Is it really possible that Mordred will one day kill Arthur, the man who helped him escape certain death?

If what's happened in my life so far is any indicator, anything is possible. And also anything that can go wrong will go wrong. That's just coming from my own personal experiences anyway.

**.~*~.**

Mordred knew that I was ignoring him. He kept saying my name, over and over. He sounded so scared. He was just a child… a  _child!_  How could I not help? I knew what Arthur had told me to do, I had my orders. So not only was I going against what every fiber of my being screamed as being the absolute  _right_  thing to do, I was disobeying direct orders from my master. And with every passing second, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust from the agony of emotions and the overwhelming presence of Mordred in my mind.

_"Why are you doing this?"_

_"Please, help us!"_

_"I don't want to die!"_

_"They're going to kill me!"_

_"Emrys!"_

I don't know if what I did was right or not in the long run. But I did the only thing I could. If I had let an innocent child be brutally killed for something the dragon told me would come to pass, no matter how unthinkable that something might be, I would have never forgiven myself. And Arthur never would have forgiven me for abandoning them, either. Abandoning him. He was angry enough when I almost didn't make it on time.

I'm still massively confused and I have had nightmares for the past week because of all that the dragon said. I keep wondering if I should have done things differently. Let Arthur get punished. Let Mordred die. Because every night I see that innocent child I helped to escape kill Arthur. Every night I see Arthur's face in my dreams, agony written on his features, his eyes asking me  _why_  I let his murderer escape. Every night I see Mordred smirking, not human, not the same child I helped, but a monster. Every night he chuckles wickedly and snarled, "Thank you, Emrysssss….."

Every night I wake up screaming.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I think I knew from the very moment Morgana told me about the boy that I wasn't going to let him die.

I love my father, I really do, but I just don't understand how he could possibly entertain the idea of killing a child – not more than ten years old – in cold blood, even if he was a Druid. It is barbaric and I'll admit that I had half a mind to go free him myself before Morgana approached me.

I wasn't surprised that Morgana was hiding the boy. What I was surprised about was that she and Merlin had been in on it together. I saw the way that she would steal a glance at him, her eyes roving his face, when we were making plans. I picked up how his eyes would light up whenever she spoke to him. Those two may think I'm an ignorant idiot – which I am  _NOT_ —

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Just like I'm not in love with Gwen?

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Merlin? Shut. Up. Now go muck out my stables or clean my boots or something semi-productive.

Anyway.

Those two may think I'm an ignorant idiot, but I'm not. I can tell when someone has feelings for another someone. And I have a good feeling that those two someones have at least a small degree of something going on between them. And it worries me – if something were to come of it and my father found out, he would have Merlin's head. And then I'd have to find someone else to clean my armor and I don't have time to hire a new servant.

I'm going to have to keep an eye on those two.

**.~*~.**

For a few moments there, I really thought that Merlin wasn't going to show up. I really thought the guards were going to catch me sneaking a condemned Druid boy out of Camelot. I really thought he'd abandoned us. Abandoned me.

Merlin's an idiot, for sure. And he could've gotten held up like he said. But somehow I get the feeling that there's more to it. When I saw him, before I went to meet the Druids with the boy, there was this look in his eyes. He seemed worried. And confused. And… guilty?

I've tried to get him to tell me the  _real_  reason he almost left us there to get caught but the idiot stubbornly insists that he couldn't get out of the castle because of security. I just  _know_  there's something more. And it bothers me.

Even though he's a hapless moron, I've grown to quite trust Merlin. But to know he's deliberately hiding something from me? And the fact that he almost let the child die and me get severely punished by my father for aiding him? That's not like Merlin.

Or maybe I'm just being overdramatic. Surely if something truly was wrong, I'd have weaseled it out of him by now. After all,  _Mer_ lin is terrible at keeping secrets. Ha. As if he could hide  _anything_  from me.


	9. Excalibur

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

It never fails. Just when things are going right for once, when it seems like all of Camelot will get a bit of a break from the chaos and death and destruction, just when something important is happening,  _something_  goes wrong and turns everything around.

Despite what I told Gwen (who I'm  _not_  in love with) after Arthur had been named Crown Prince and sole heir to the throne, I was a bit… proud of him. Not that he'll ever find out, mind you – if Arthur can't own up to the fact that I'm probably the closest thing he's ever had to a  _friend_  in all of Camelot, why should  _I_ have to admit that I'm proud of him for what he's become and what he's on the way to becoming?

As I was saying, everything was going great – the ceremony went without a hitch, Arthur responded to his father's words correctly and seriously, he said his oath firmly and I could tell that he meant it, and the crown fit perfectly, even with Arthur's unnaturally big head – and then the Black Knight burst through the window, shattering the glass. He threw down his gauntlet and one of the knights accepted.

He shouldn't have accepted the challenge.  _No one_  should have accepted the challenge. But tell that to a knight – or, heaven forbid, the  _Crown Prince_  of Camelot – and you're liable to get knocked upside the head. Why? Because while knights are noble, they take their nobility to such extremes that even if there is  _no_  chance of them surviving a confrontation or battle, they do it anyway because they feel they have to  _prove_  their honor. Here's what I don't understand: What good is your honor if you're dead?

**.~*~.**

I can always tell when Gaius is hiding something from me. I had a feeling that he might know something about this mysterious knight that decided to  _literally_  crash Arthur's ceremony but he said that he didn't think so. I should have continued to question him and maybe together we would have figured out something sooner, before those knights died combating the black knight but I could tell that Gaius was didn't want to talk about it anymore when he said, "Merlin, your faith in my all-seeing knowledge is both touching and wholly misplaced. Now if you've finished your work, maybe you should go to bed and leave me to mine."

Despite being up there in age, Gaius has got to be one of the most quick-witted people I know. Not quite as sarcastic as Arthur – of course with Arthur, you get a combination of sarcasm and egocentrism that creates his air of prattishness – but he's got a quick mind and even quicker tongue and doesn't hesitate to use them to his advantage. Maybe that's why we get along so well.

Regardless, it was painfully obvious that Gaius knew  _something_  but didn't want to tell me just yet… so I didn't press him. I just wish that we could have figured out something to stop the black knight – Tristan Du Bois as we later found out – from killing so many good and young knights.

**.~*~.**

When Gaius did tell me his suspicions, I almost wished he hadn't. I can still remember the fear that coursed through me when he told me that it was a wraith. I didn't know what a wraith was exactly, but just the name sounded evil, unnatural. And when I found out that it was the spirit of a dead man conjured up from the grave – in this case, said dead man being the brother of Arthur's mother that blamed Uther for his sister dying in childbirth with a hankering for revenge – that cannot be killed by mortal weapons and will only disperse when it has what it came for, revenge…

I thought all was lost. I was almost right.

**.~*~.**

After the first knight fought and died – even though I  _clearly_  saw him stab the wraith with no effect whatsoever – another knight, Sir Pellinor, accepted the challenge. I was grateful to him even though I knew that he would probably die as well, because I could see that Arthur was on the brink of accepting the challenge and would have had Uther not stopped him.

Sir Pellinor did indeed perish, even though nearly everyone saw his sword sink into the black knight's flesh – or, as we found out later, lack thereof.

I remember thinking that I knew what was going to happen next. The knight was going to throw his gauntlet on the ground, just over Pellinor's dead body, and challenge someone else to a hopeless fight. I was thinking, _Arthur, for once don't be a noble idiot and let someone else take the challenge!_  It's not that I wanted anyone to die, least of all one of Camelot's brave knights. But I – and more importantly, Camelot – cannot afford Arthur's death. Arthur is the Once and Future King that will restore the land of Albion and bring magic back to the lands – if all goes to plan, of course. There might be a slight problem if he dies before he can fulfill his destiny.

I was surprised when the black knight didn't even have time to throw down his gauntlet. Someone else did. Someone who was challenging him. Arthur.

All I can recall thinking was,  _Arthur, you_ idiot!

**.~*~.**

I tried to kill the wraith with magic. I am not over-confident in my powers but I thought I had a fairly good chance at killing it. After all, the griffon couldn't be killed with mortal weapons but I was able to enchant Lancelot's lance and it killed the beast. I figured it was the same principle.

I was wrong.

I tried to set it on fire and remember feeling elated when the flames licked its feet and then grew, rising to nearly cover the whole of its body. I normally don't fancy killing anything – but considering that not only was this… _thing_ going to kill Arthur in the morning, but it wasn't even technically alive, I had no qualms.

And then the flames whooshed down and out with a roar and the wraith, face still hidden behind the helmet, turned its head slowly toward me. There is no way I can accurately describe the raw and all consuming  _terror_ that coursed through me at that moment. I felt like I was defenseless, like this creature conjured from hell could leap at me, shred me to pieces, and I couldn't do anything about it. My magic was useless. For the first time in my life, I was completely vulnerable.

I ran.

**.~*~.**

As it turned out, only a sword forged or burnished by dragon's breath has the power to slay something that isn't already dead. Lucky for me, there is a dragon living, trapped, beneath the castle. Whether or not he would be willing to help me was another story.

In the end, I managed to convince him, although the Great Dragon was reluctant to do as I asked. He said that in the wrong hands, the sword – a  _very_ powerful sword, apparently – could cause great evil. It was only to be wielded by Arthur. And then he sprayed the sword with the most beautiful fire I have ever seen.

I always thought that dragon's fire would be harsh, reeking of destruction, raging, unstoppable,  _terrifying._ Perhaps it is when a dragon's intent is killing with its flames – I hope I never have to face the dragon while he's mad, though – but in this case, it wasn't ugly or scary, but rather beautiful. Colors swirled from his mouth and melted into light oranges and dark yellows which caressed the blade of the sword I'd gotten from Gwen gently, almost lovingly. The colors were none that I have ever seen before – I can barely describe the gloriousness of it, even now. Pure, spiraling colors, entwining with each other.

It is something that I will never, even if I grow to be an old, old man, forget.

**.~*~.**

Surprised does not even begin to describe what I felt when it was Uther, not Arthur, that walked into the armory where I was waiting to get Arthur ready for the challenge. I had the sword – the most beautiful sword ever forged; if I moved it through the light I could actually see flecks of color in the silver of the blade, remnants of the dragon's fire – lying out, excited to see Arthur's reaction to this beautiful weapon. I've often wondered if he would have been so grateful that I'd gotten him a beautiful sword that somehow managed to kill a dead guy that he would have given me a day off? And I've often reminded myself that this is Arthur we're talking about.

When Uther came in, my mind was racing and I have to admit, I was quite scared. Being around Uther always unnerves me. Maybe it has something to do with the knowledge that if he found out who I really am, that I have (or rather  _am_ ) magic, despite all that I do for his son, not to mention him and his kingdom, he would kill me. Maybe on the spot, but more than likely he would throw me in the dungeons and then publicly execute me. Either way, it wouldn't end well.

I know that Uther has no way to sense magic – if he did, my job would be  _so_  much easier because he would actually be able to figure out for himself that nearly every visitor to the castle has magic and wants to kill him and/or Arthur. Then again, I probably wouldn't  _have_  a job if Uther could sniff out magic because I wouldn't have a head, and I've heard it's hard to scurry around after a royal prat when you've got no head for him to throw something at.

Although I know that the only way Uther would find out on his own that I have magic would be if he  _saw_ me doing magic, I still get scared when I'm around him. I usually push that fear to the back of my mind but even so, it's there, nibbling at my thoughts and making me look even more of a fool than usual because of that nagging terror. His eyes are so cold – he's watched so many people die horrible deaths that  _he_ sentenced them to – so calculating, and usually quite exasperated when he's regarding me or even if my name comes up. I don't think he likes me very much, even though  _he_  was the one that appointed me as Arthur's servant, a "gift" that I'm still trying to figure out whether it was a punishment or reward.

This time was no exception. My palms started sweating and my throat went dry. As silly as it sounds, every time that I look into his eyes I can almost  _see_  myself being condemned for my magic. I can almost imagine myself burning at the stake, being hung, or beheaded for something that I have no control over but decided to use for good. And it's more than unnerving. I swallowed back my nerves the best I could though.

Uther informed me that Arthur wouldn't be fighting. I hastily went to cover up the sword, knowing that the king should  _not_  use it. But he wanted to – said it wouldn't matter anyway and that it was a fine blade. What could I do? He's the king; he could have killed me then and there for defying him, for trying to tell me what to do and no one could have done anything about it. Well, I suppose I could have defended myself with magic, but then where would that put me?

As it was, though, Uther was firm in his decision to use the sword and all that I could do was hope and pray that I could get the sword back as soon as possible. And it seemed that Uther had decided to take Arthur's place and that somehow, Arthur had no choice in it – I found out from Gaius later that Uther had gotten Gaius to drug Arthur – to  _drug_  him! – and lock him in his room so that he couldn't interfere. So that he couldn't fight. So that he couldn't get hurt.

No matter what feelings and fears I have about Uther, there's no doubt that my respect for him rose when I found out what lengths he had gone to to keep Arthur safe. Somehow, though, I have a feeling that Uther wouldn't mirror that respect if he found out what lengths  _I_  go to on a near daily basis to get his prat of a son safe, but that doesn't matter. It's my job to protect Arthur and I'll do it as long as I have to, as long as I have breath in my body, without any recognition, if it means the future that the Great Dragon told me about.

Then Uther ordered me to prepare him for battle. Me! I think I might have died right then and there, my heart was beating so wildly. This may sound stupid but I can almost  _feel_  my magic tensing up inside me when I get close to Uther. If being in the same with him makes me nervous, then being  _alone_ with him scares the life out of me. And being in such  _close_ proximity, helping him get dressed for battle – that scared the  _hell_  out of me.

But the conversation with the king that occurred during this time was almost worth it.

**.~*~.**

"Prepare me for battle." His voice was resigned, firm. I felt my heart thud frantically against my rib cage, my magic curl up almost in a little ball inside of me as if trying to become as inconspicuous as possible. I kept my eyes lowered. I didn't want to meet those cold, stormy seas of gray and blue.

I had to try to dissuade him. I had the sword – Arthur  _wouldn't_  die if he faced the wraith! But I couldn't tell Uther that. "Arthur should be the one that fights today." I had to try, at least.

His voice had a bit of an edge to it and I had to fight not to shrink back. "The grievance was with me, the fight is mine."  _He thinks that he knows he's going to die…_

I tried to cover up the sword – Uther  _couldn't_ use it! "I don't have your armor."

He gestured blandly at the sword and armor I had prepared for Arthur – for  _Arthur_ , not his suddenly noble father! "That'll do. It's likely to make little difference." Yes, he was definitely resigned to his fate. He  _really_  was planning on dying for his son. I had to get him another sword. But if I got him another one, he  _would_  die. Unless I could get the other one to Arthur and get Arthur out of his room in time to slay the wraith… Yes, that's what I had to do. I couldn't risk letting Uther use the sword.

"I-I'll get you your sword." I know I sounded scared.

"This one will be fine." Stubbornness must run in the Pendragon line – like father like son.

"No, Sire, you don't understand."  _Did I just tell the king "no"? Oh my goodness, he's going to kill me…_ He didn't respond and I pressed on. "That one was made specifically for Arthur."

He looked mildly interested and I hurried to get the armor. I was so close to him when I started to put it on him that I could feel his hot breath – and almost imagined it was a rush of flames from the pyre, about to consume me for my magic. I almost bolted then and there. "Who made it?"

I snapped back to reality. "Um, er, Tom the blacksmith."  _Why is he so interested in this stupid sword? Can't he use his own?_

"It's worthy of a king."  _Yes, it is, but_ not _King Uther! King_ Arthur!I was so frustrated but I couldn't do anything about this situation that was rapidly spiraling out of my control.

I tried to get his mind off of it… again. "You would be better off with a sword you trusted." Maybe that would convince him.

"No. It has almost perfect balance." Or maybe not. Apparently our king has a one track mind. He gazed at the sword as he swung it a few times. I felt my gut clench uncomfortably. He looked thoughtful. "Tom is not the Royal Swordsmith. I'm surprised Arthur went to him."

What could I do? I told him the truth – well, sort of. Technically I didn't go to  _Tom_ , but to his daughter and I pretty much asked her to steal it from him. It was for a good cause, but I still didn't think it would be a good idea to divulge that type of information. "That was me."

He looked up and for a moment our eyes met. Raw terror filled me but also surprise – those normally unreadable eyes were filled with sadness and determination, maybe even a hint of fear.  _He thinks he's going to die. He's doing it willingly – going to his death for his heir. No, not just his heir. His son. Arthur._ I think my appreciation for what he was doing was what allowed me to get over my moment of fear and press onwards, still getting him into his armor. Miraculously, I didn't screw anything up –  _I did everything right!_  That's something that rarely happens when I'm preparing Arthur for battle. Maybe my fear held my clumsiness at bay, although usually it does the opposite.

I was still locked in his gaze and I couldn't lower my eyes, could barely move, and could barely breathe. He was looking at me and I knew he meant for me to explain further. "I felt he needed a better sword."

His eyes held mine for a few more moments before he turned away and I almost slumped over in relief. Still facing the other direction, he said, "You show him the most extraordinary loyalty."

He wanted an explanation. I couldn't very well tell him, "Well, you see, Sire, I'm a warlock and it's my destiny to protect your son until you kick the bucket and he becomes king and undermines everything you've strove for in the last twenty years. Isn't that fantastic?" I'd be dead before I could even  _think_  "uh-oh."

So I responded rather blandly, "That is my job, Sire."  _Please, just drop it, please…_

He didn't drop it. I swear, these Pendragons are the most mule-headed lot I've ever had the misfortune to meet. Honestly. He thinks he's about to die, shouldn't he be saying his prayers or confessing to an old man in a robe instead of trying to extract every little detail out of the life of his son's servant? "But beyond the line of duty."

I thought frantically for a moment. What  _could_ I say? I settled with, "Well, you could say there is a bond between us."  _Crap. That came out wrong. Now he's going to be thinking there's a "bond" between us… Oh, gosh… what if thinks that I meant, like a…_ romantic _bond? Ew. Gross._ Please _let him take it the innocent way I meant it…_  I didn't exactly want him to pry into the whole "destiny" aspect of my words, either, but I think I might actually prefer that to him thinking the other thing…

Luckily, it didn't seem to click that way. Thank heavens! "I'm glad." He lowered his head and made a point to look right into my eyes… right into my very soul, it seemed… "Look after him."

And he left.

I could breathe again, but only until I remembered that he had  _the_  sword. The sword that was meant for Arthur. Brilliant.  _How_  was I going to explain this to the dragon?

**.~*~.**

Uther killed the wraith with the sword and Gaius made up some sort of story to explain how Uther managed to kill something that  _couldn't_ be killed. I went to attend to Arthur, to let him out of his room, rather, before he met with his father, to try and calm him down but he wanted  _none_  of it. That stupid book smacked me in the head with full force – apparently Arthur needed someone to take his anger out on (as usual) and this time, it was me. I now have a light bruise smack in the middle of my forehead for my trouble. Arthur saw it the next day when I went to wake him up and demanded angrily – almost  _protectively_ , imagine that – who had done that to me.

I reminded him rather chipperly that  _he_ was the one who did it; he threw the bloody book at me! Guilt flashed on his face for the fraction of a second and he told me in a  _very_ roundabout way that he was sorry. He also demanded to know if I saw Gaius about it. I looked at him rather blankly and said something along the lines of, "I live with him, you prat!" Thankfully he must have still felt guilty about thunking me on the head with  _Battle Strategies of the Turn of the Century_ and he didn't throw anything else at me.

When he came back from confronting his father, he was much happier, and for that I was glad. I have seen firsthand how much Uther cares for his son – he was willing to  _die_  for him – and I didn't want a rift to appear between them because of what had happened.

**.~*~.**

The Great Dragon was none too pleased that Uther had used the sword. He roared – loudly – and I had a feeling that if he breathed fire  _now_ , it wouldn't be nearly as "pretty." He told me I must place the sword where no one would find it, until it was ready to be used by Arthur again. I had the quick, fleeting idea to put it in a stone but quickly changed my mind – a sword in a stone, how silly does that sound?

I wound up throwing it in a lake nearby – a beautiful lake framed with mountains and trees.

And now, after saving the kingdom, Arthur, and even Uther yet  _again_ , I'm back to the same old same old. Namely, washing the  _Crown Prince's_ royal socks.

What an honor.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I am now officially Crown Prince of Camelot. It's a prospect both invigorating and daunting. The day I was crowed prince, the day of my twenty-first birthday, was a day that I knew was coming from a very young age. But now that it has actually happened… I feel almost overwhelmed.

I could see  _Mer_ lin smirking as he whispered something across the room to Guinevere but I ignored him – probably complaining about having to wash my socks again, the idiot.

Needless to say, I was more than a bit put out when a black knight on a black horse crashed through the window and threw his gauntlet down at our feet. I was going to take it, to accept his challenge, but one of my other knights – a young man, new to the knights – accepted it. Accepted a fight to the death.  _His_ death. And there was nothing I could do about it, or about Sir Pallinor's death later on.

I was helpless, forced to watch my knights die when their blows should have  _killed_  the knight in black.

**.~*~.**

I tried to warn them that this wasn't something to be taken lightly. I know that they understood that, but still, I couldn't stand to see them die. I didn't want to see them die and would have gladly taken their place if they would have let me, if it hadn't been looked upon as cowardice on their part.

They both died bravely, honorably, but for what purpose? It's times like these that I find myself questioning the order of things. Their deaths seem so pointless now. I know that they took up the gauntlet, took up the duty to fight. But why? They did not die fighting for Camelot. They died fighting for their very lives in the middle of an arena with hundreds of people watching them.

I've fought many times in tournaments, and even in several fights to the death, but it's different when  _my_  men are on the line.  _My_  knights. That's why I wanted to take their place. But I couldn't. Instead, I had to stand there and watch them  _die_ , be brutally killed by a man who seemed to not feel the stab of their blades, a man who never showed his face and whose voice sounded like the fires of hell itself.

After Sir Pallinor died, I took it upon myself to challenge the black knight. I wasn't going to stand by and watch any more of my men die. I was going to  _fight_  this mysterious, bloodthirsty stranger and I was going to  _win_. And when I did, I was going to spill his blood callously like he had my knights'.

Unfortunately, it didn't quite turn out the way I planned.

**.~*~.**

I know that father cares about me but it  _really_  infuriated me when he tried to convince me to withdraw from the battle. Not only would it be disrespecting the honorable memories of my two knights that died at the man's hand, but it was pure cowardice on my part. How can he expect me to lead men into battle, to be the king over all the people, if I back out of a challenge, no matter how dangerous?

Like I told my father, there cannot be one rule for me and another for everyone else.

And whether I want to admit it or not, it's true that when he told me that if I fought I  _would_  die, it stung. My own father with so little faith in me. I realize now that he was just trying to protect me and that he was probably right – from what Merlin told me after I nearly brained him with a book, that was one  _hell_  of a fight and that  _thing_ wasn't human – but to hear those words coming out of his mouth hurt.

All my life I've looked up to my father, wanting to be like him, wanting to make him proud. I thought that I'd reached a point where he fully trusted my judgment and abilities. Apparently not.

It still stings, even if I now know that he did it for my own good.

**.~*~.**

I should have known that something was up when Gaius came in and gave me something to help me sleep. I should have realized that it wasn't just to help me sleep through the night – but far into the morning as well. My father had Gaius  _drug me_! And as if that wasn't enough, lock me in my bloody room! I was so angry when I woke up that I wanted to do something stupid, like challenge my father to a duel for taking control of the situation like that.

I confronted him after Merlin came to let me out of my room. I feel a little bad because he now has a large bruise on his forehead from where I threw a book at him when he entered. I already had the book poised, ready to throw at whoever came in – even my father, I was  _so_  angry and thought that maybe he could use a little practice ducking, no matter how childish my reaction may have been – and most people would have had the presence of mind or mental capacity to, I don't know,  _dodge the book_. Not Merlin. He just stood there dumbly and let it hit him in the head.

I didn't even stop to apologize or ask if he was okay because I was so intent on confronting Father. In fact, by the next morning I had forgotten about what I had done. I remember feeling a strange, almost protective wave of anger rise up in me and I demanded to know who had hurt Merlin. When he informed me that it was by  _my_ doing, I felt surprisingly guilty. I never actually said I was sorry, but it went without saying. I can't exactly be seen apologizing to my  _servant_.

Anyway, when I walked into the room to yell at my father for what he had done, I was utterly shocked at the direction in which our conversation went.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

That seemed to be a running theme that day – surprising conversations with your father.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

What did  _you_  talk to my father about,  _Mer_ lin?

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

…

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Never mind.

It was strange, I heard a bit of the conversation between Gaius and my father before I actually burst into the room. I was planning on barging in without a second thought but I heard something that intrigued me and I listened through the door for a moment.

 _"Is that a new sword, Sire?"_ It was Gaius talking.

My father replied, _"The best I've ever fought with."_

 _"May I have a look?"_ Gaius inquired.

_"I was intrigued by those markings."_

Gaius explained, _"On one side it says, 'Take me up," and on the other, 'Cast me away.'"_

Father sounded curious. _"What does that mean?"_

There was silence for a moment, then Gaius seemed to avoid the question by asking another one _. "May I ask who made it, Sire?"_

My father's answer shocked me.  _"Merlin gave it to me."_  I was taken aback and didn't hear what my father said next.  _Merlin_  gave my father a  _sword_? Why on earth would he do that? Not that it's not a nice gesture, but if he's going to be giving a sword to anyone, it should be  _me._   _I'm_  his master.

After that, the thought of my manservant bestowing gifts upon my father fled from my mind as I remembered what I had come here for. I swung the doors open and crashed into the room, not expecting the confrontation to turn out anything like it did.

**.~*~.**

When I walked in, the first thing I noticed was that Gaius scurried away faster than I've ever seen him move in my whole life. That amused me; apparently he had some sense. He  _knew_  I was going to be angry. See, if it had been  _Gaius_ who had come to unlock my door and let me out of the room, he would've had the sense to  _duck_. Of course, had it been Gaius, I would've stopped myself from hurling it. But I digress.

My voice was almost shaking with anger when I approached my father. "You had Gaius  _drug me_? I was meant to fight him." It was more of an accusation than a question.

My father's reply was, "No. You. Weren't."

My anger bucked inside of me, desperate to get out. " My father really  _is_  a stubborn old man. I'm glad  _I_  didn't inherit that from him.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Ha! You're kidding, right?

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

You know, Merlin, this interruption business is starting to get  _really_  old. If you don't shut up and stay out of  _my_ side of the story, I might just introduce you to the sequel of that book I threw at you – it's a marvelous read. What's this I hear? Silence?

Good.

Where was I? Oh right. My father is a stubborn old man. I tried to argue, "But the knight's code—"

"Be damned!" His eyes were misty and his face set as if in stone. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, his words unexpected but beautiful, rendering me speechless for a few moments. I never knew he cared that much… "I believed you would die and that was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than  _anything_  I know, more than this entire kingdom and certainly more than my own life."

When I finally got my voice back, I said the only thing that was running through my head, the only coherent thought I could find. I was touched beyond imagination and it meant more to me than even I can believe to hear my father say those words. "I always thought that…"

"What?"

"…that… I was a big disappointment to you." There. I said it. My feelings, for the first time since the idea that I wasn't good enough started tickling the back of my mind.

Father swallowed heavily. "Well, that is my fault and not yours. You are my only son. And I wouldn't wish for another." He put his hand on my shoulder and I could feel the tears threatening to break through. The words he was speaking were ones I had dreamed of hearing a thousand times over but had never thought my ears would catch them. My heart was thumping wildly as I realized that I  _wasn't_  a disappointment. My father was  _proud_ of me – I hadn't let him down! The joy I felt in that moment made me feel like a five year old boy again, wanting nothing more than to live up to his daddy's expectations. It was a wonderful feeling.

I tried to say something,  _anything_ , but my voice didn't seem to want to work and my brain was still repeating his words. Father squeezed my shoulder and let go and it was then that I realized no words were required.

The moment was gone but the feelings and words spoken were not. I blinked the last few tears out of my eyes and said, "I heard you fought pretty well."

"Thanks."

I grinned, now ready to tease him a bit. I wasn't going to let him  _completely_ off the hook at any rate. "You should join us for training. Sort out your footwork."

He blinked, grinned, and then pretended to be angry. "I'll show you footwork." I laughed and scooted out of the room, feeling more alive and hopeful than ever.

This was the first time my father had ever spoken words like that to me. This was the first time I truly felt his pride. And I believe that this had to be the first time in a long time that I'd ever felt this happy.

As I ran out of the room, laughing, I realized that as father and son,  _this_ was the way things should be.


	10. The Moment of Truth

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Life isn't fair.

I've known that – I've always know that, actually, given my powers and the extent I have to go to daily to hide who I really am – but what happened in Ealdor, my hometown, really showed me the extent to which those words are true. Life is  _not_  fair.

**.~*~.**

I cannot even begin to describe the anger that coursed through me when I saw the ugly bruise – the black eye – that someone had put on my mother's face by striking her. It's bad enough that there are people terrible enough to strike an innocent, unarmed woman, but when that woman is my mother, my own flesh and blood… it made me sick. To make matters worse, when she told King Uther about the men that were plaguing her village –  _our_ village, really – he wasn't able to lift a finger to help.

I say he wasn't  _able_  to lift a finger; perhaps that's being too generous. After all, I doubt Cenred would declare war on Camelot for a handful of soldiers riding into his territory to run out some bandits. He might have reacted badly, but at least it would have been  _something_.

**.~*~.**

Arthur surprised me when I went to talk to him after my mother's audience with the king. I remember walking up to him – he was standing on the battlements of one of the towers, arms crossed over his chest, just looking out over Camelot – and standing beside him, waiting for him to say something, anything. Finally he admitted, "I wish Camelot was able to help people no matter how far away they are."

To hear Arthur say this was not surprising in itself, although the emotion in his voice certainly was. He  _meant_ what he said. I still can't entirely comprehend what's happened in Arthur in the few months since I met him. He's still a prat, yes – good heavens, yes, he's still a prat – but he has changed a lot. The Arthur that I met in the lower town on my first day in Camelot would have been more concerned about what his snobbish friends thought of him than the welfare of a village that is not even  _in_  Camelot. I'm – fine, I'll admit it, but only this once –  _proud_  of how far he's come.

Rest assured, though, this does not remove Arthur from the status of "prat." He can't help but be a prat, it's in his nature. Still, it was a shock to hear the genuine disappointment in his voice when I told him I planned on staying in Ealdor. "You'll be coming back?"

I tried to convey to him through my tone and words just what I was feeling, tried to help him understand the fierce wave of protectiveness that overtook me when I saw the bruise on my mother's face and  _still_  threatens to consume me whenever I think that someone purposely  _hit_  her. I know he understood.

It was difficult, leaving Camelot and Arthur and my destiny without the intention of returning. Perhaps I knew, though, deep down, that I wouldn't stay away, that I couldn't stay away, that I would return eventually because apparently, if I'm to believe the dragon, my destiny is intertwined with Arthur's and Camelot's.

**.~*~.**

Even though the past few days were some of the hardest in my life, I've learned what kind and loyal friends I have made in Camelot. I could not persuade Gwen and even Morgana to stay in Camelot. They were intent on accompanying me to help face the bandits that had hurt my mother and threatened my village. I tried to dissuade them but they said that I would do the same for them – which I would, of course – and that I already  _had_  done the same for them, when I saved Gwen's life and helped Morgana smuggle the Druid boy out of Camelot. Honestly, though, the thought of either one of them repaying me never crossed my mind when I helped them before. It was just the  _right_ thing to do. (Well, I  _hope_  that helping Morgana smuggle Mordred out of Camelot was the right thing to do. I still have an occasional nightmare about it and haven't completely come to terms with the decision I made. But the intent was good, at least.)

It touched me that they cared enough about me that they were willing to put their lives at risk to help my village, to help me.

As if their actions weren't surprising enough, imagine my surprise when Arthur joined our quest in the dead of night by sneaking up on me and scaring the life out of me in the process.

**.~*~.**

I never thought that Arthur cared that much.

I knew he cared  _some_ , obviously, or he wouldn't have apologized for sacking me after the incident with Valiant. If he didn't care, he wouldn't have gone along with my plan to save Gwen when she had been sentenced to death for crimes she didn't commit. He wouldn't have put  _everything_  on the line to save me when Nimueh poisoned me. He wouldn't have cared that I planned on staying in Ealdor.

I just didn't realize that he cared enough to leave Camelot and follow our small band to the middle of the woods in the dark of night to join our cause. To help me liberate Ealdor from looters. Of course he pretended like he had come to watch after Gwen and Morgana and because he couldn't trust me with a sword – my nearly decapitating him when he first came up to me in the woods was proof enough of that – but after hearing what Morgana and Gwen said that one night, along with what Mother told me, I'm starting to realize that the reason he came was more than just that.

It was about me. About our friendship – or whatever it is we have. Not exactly friendship (since the stubborn prat won't admit that I'm his friend) but very close. The fact that he joined us – joined me – speaks volumes about the man he is inside and the man he will become someday – the Once and Future King. If he's willing to do this for a servant, imagine what he'll do for his kingdom someday.

**.~*~.**

I should have realized that sparks would fly as soon as Will met Arthur.

It was great to see Will again – and it's hard for me to talk about this, honestly, even now that I'm back in Camelot and I can almost pretend that none of it ever happened and that my best friend is still alive and well back in Ealdor. I had forgotten, if only momentarily, how Will feels – or felt, rather – about nobility. I should have foreseen his hostility toward Arthur. Ever since his father died…

Will challenged everything Arthur had to say. He undermined his words – or tried to, anyway, I don't think any of the villagers actually believed him – and tried to get the others to simply give into the demands of the looters. I tried to convince him that Arthur is a man of honor and not just some glory-mongering excuse for a royal but I don't think Will realized that until it was almost too late.

Too late for Will, anyway.

**.~*~.**

It was strange, being at home where I grew up and with the people I grew up  _with_ , but with Arthur there and still being very much the prince but also  _not_  the prince at the same time. It was confusing – I didn't know how to act, like a servant or the way I always have around the villagers? In the end, especially with Arthur barking orders like crazy, it seemed simpler just to fall into the same routines established in Camelot. Things had changed since I'd last been in Ealdor anyway. It was much more  _normal_  to be the servant instead of the strange kid with a secret that doesn't really fit in anywhere.

It also helped me to realize that in the short time I've been in Camelot, it's become my home more than Ealdor ever really was. The talk with Arthur – it was  _so_  strange to see him sleeping on the ground, his stinky feet in my face – only served to reinforce this idea that I belong in Camelot more than I ever did in Ealdor, as strange as that may sound since I break the law in Camelot every day.

It was after talking to Arthur and hearing Gwen and Morgana murmuring about how Arthur came for  _me_  that I started to change my mind about returning to Camelot after this was over.

**.~*~.**

I still can't believe the sacrifice that came with getting rid of Kanen and his men. The cost was terrible but I have to keep reminding myself that it was  _Will's_  choice.  _He_  made the decision to shove Arthur out of the way and take the arrow for him. And it was  _his_  choice to lie to Arthur and tell him that  _he_  was the one that used magic to save the day.

I can hardly believe he did that for me. He was dying anyway, but I have a feeling that Will might have told Arthur he had done it even if he hadn't been shot. Will's such a dear friend and when I saw that he had come to join us, I  _knew_  that he had realized what kind of man Arthur is and what he fights for. He realized how imperative my – our – destiny is if the ban on magic is ever to be repealed in Camelot and Albion to be restored. He would have made that sacrifice anyway – although I would have  _never_  wanted him to – because he is the best friend a man could have.

And now he's gone.

**.~*~.**

Will and I used to get into so much trouble together. It was my fault just as many times as it was his but neither of us minded. Getting in trouble is what young boys do, and we were serious about our "jobs." We played ball in his mom's flower garden (which she didn't particularly like), nicked apples from Old Man Simmons's tree (that led into the time that I nearly flattened Old Man Simmons with at tree; we were trying to pick an apple on the very top and when trying to make the tree lean forward with magic, I accidentally brought the whole thing crashing down), and I nearly drowned once trying to save a baby rabbit that misjudged the distance between one edge of a deep creek and the other (the rabbit was fine afterwards, it just twitched its whiskers, shook, and hopped away). That was when Will found out about my magic. Apparently water doesn't just pick up a person and deposit them on dry land when they're drowning.

All those memories kept flashing through my mind – and more – as I sat beside Will right after we had carried him inside and placed him on a table. And then he told Arthur that  _he_  was the sorcerer for me – even when he was dying, he was selfless. When he let out a choked chuckle and asked Arthur, only half joking, "What are you going to do, kill me?" I was relieved (but not entirely surprised) to see Arthur look aghast at the idea. He clasped Will on the shoulder and told me to do what I could for him.

 _There was_ nothing _I could do for him._

Nothing except run my fingers comfortingly through his hair and sit by his side as he died…

**.~*~.**

Obviously, I decided to return to Camelot. I couldn't leave Arthur, my destiny, or my  _home_. Besides, Mother knows where to find me and she knows how to take care of herself. I offered to stay with her but she insisted that Camelot was where I belonged.

Especially after the pain of losing my best friend, it was  _painfully_  clear to me that she was right.

**.~*~.**

Arthur has been amazing these past few days since we returned to Camelot. It's strange to say it, but it's true. He's not been weird – no scooting around the subject or trying extra-hard to be nice to me. Instead, he acts normally, but he lets me know every day that if I ever need to talk about what happened, or anything else for that matter (as long as it's not stupid rambling – his words exactly) not to hesitate coming to him.

Of course, afterwards, he gave me a huge list of chore to do…

Still, after Arthur's reaction to Will's "magic," I now have hope that when I  _do_  tell him the truth – although now isn't the time – that he will be more understanding than I previously thought.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I am now more confused about magic than I have ever been.

All my life, I have been told time and time again that magic is evil, it corrupts, it seeks only to destroy – not help or preserve. Most of the time, I can accept that. I have, after all, seen magic used for evil many times and have rarely seen it for good. There are times, though, that my black and white view of magic is challenged.

The first time I saw magic used for good was when  _someone_  cured Gwen's father. It wasn't Guinevere, and it most definitely  _wasn't_  Merlin even if he  _did_  confess – he was just so smitten with Gwen that he would do anything to save her. The other time was when I was in the cave on the quest to get the flower to save Merlin from the poison – the strange, glowing orb that appeared in my time of deepest need and helped to guide me to the flower and out of the cave. That magic certainly hadn't felt evil, or wrong, but pure and, as odd as it may sound,  _right_.

And then there is Will. The man – the  _sorcerer_  – not only used magic to save us all but afterwards physically pushed me out of the way of an arrow and took it himself. I can still see the agony on his face as the arrow embedded itself in his heart.

It is something I know I'll  _never_  forget as long as I live. A  _sorcerer_  saved my life. Never, in a million years, would I have thought that someone with magic, a sorcerer, would save  _my_  life, the son of a man who hates magic and kills those who wield it.

**.~*~.**

I had never really thought about Merlin's life before Camelot. I hadn't had a reason to wonder about the village he came from or that he had a family, a life, and  _friends_  somewhere else. I had never asked him where he lived before he came to Camelot, or even asked about his family. I didn't know if both of his parents were still alive or if he had siblings. I didn't know much about Merlin at all.

I now know quite a bit more than I did, but I still get the feeling that he's keeping something from me. Perhaps it's something about his past or some kind of ongoing secret, but it was obvious that he was trying to tell me _something_  before the battle with Kanen and his men. Even though he told me that he was trying to tell me that Will was a sorcerer, I'm not so sure that's the truth. Why would he tell me not to think any differently of him because his friend had magic? It doesn't exactly make sense; I almost think there was something more.

Either way, from my spur of the moment trip to his home – it was odd seeing Merlin in a different setting, a setting where he grew up but didn't seem to fit in despite that fact – I was able to learn and deduce much more about my servant than I had ever cared to learn before.

Merlin's father is not in the village. His mother – a very sweet, determined lady that made me want to tuck in my shirt and stand up straighter just by glancing at me – never mentioned him and Merlin never has. I haven't gotten up the nerve to ask Merlin about his father yet. I know how touchy of a subject it is for me to talk about my mother and I never met her. What if Merlin's father left or died when Merlin was older? What if something similar happened to his father that happened to William's? I don't want to bring up more painful memories, especially right after Merlin's lost his best friend.

Merlin led a very simple life. He has slept on the floor all of his life – his mother has the only bed in the home and it is the most homely and pathetic thing I've ever laid eyes on. When I slept on the floor… well, I could barely stand it. The ground was hard – as Merlin the idiot said, like rock – and cold and the spare blanket Hunith could find was scratchy. Merlin fell right to sleep while I tossed and turned.

Food was scarce for Merlin growing up – perhaps that's why he's so skinny. I got a lecture from Gwen about not turning my nose up at the food – no matter how upturned-nose-worthy that food may be. She was right, though, and in that moment I saw something in Guinevere that I never had before. Someone strong and independent, noble. For the briefest of moments, I envisioned her in a fine dress, the attire of a noblewoman, Morgana's jeweled tiara perched precariously on her auburn curls. Then I blinked and she was standing in trousers and an old tunic, hair bunched together at the nape of her neck. But I had seen… something. A noblewoman trapped inside of a peasant's social class.

Strange, I know. But in that moment it was as if something flipped inside of me, and for the first time I found myself hoping that Merlin  _isn't_  in love with Gwen.

**.~*~.**

I have never seen Merlin so broken. I have never, in fact, thought of Merlin as a complex person that has more feelings than just happy and sad. I never really contemplated what Merlin would look like with tears in his eyes, barely restraining sobs, holding the dying body of his friend in shaking arms, body quaking from the grief. It's an image I will never be able to unsee, no matter how much I long to.

Merlin shouldn't be that sad.

Merlin shouldn't be that broken.

And yet part of me is glad that it turned out this way. Will was dying anyway; he told me he was the sorcerer and I was massively relieved that it hadn't been Merlin – of course I never  _really_  believed it was  _Mer_ lin – but it would have been atrocious to be put in the position where I would have to condemn his friend or disregard the law. I suppose since Ealdor is in Cenred's kingdom, I could have done nothing. But father wouldn't have done nothing. Father is relentless. Sometimes  _too_  relentless.

I wouldn't have killed or condemned Will after what he did, anyway.

But more than anything, I  _do_  wish he had survived, if only to spare Merlin from the all-consuming grief. I've never seen the happy-go-lucky, obnoxious, annoying, cheeky servant so depressed. It was scary. It was wrong.

Merlin shouldn't have to go through that type of pain. I'm going to take it upon myself from now on to try and make sure he doesn't have to ever again.


	11. The Labyrinth of Gedref

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I have discovered that Arthur, despite what a prat he continues to be most of the time, is much more honorable than I have ever given him credit for. I admit, when he shot the unicorn, I was  _furious_. His callous disregard for life in general can be obnoxious – killing furry animals just for the fun of it, although I will give that those furry animals  _do_  taste good and Camelot needs to eat – but to knowingly slaughter something so pure and beautiful, so innocent, as a unicorn? I just couldn't understand – I still don't understand – how anyone could be happy about killing a creature so…  _pure_.

I'll never forget the moment that I first laid eyes on the unicorn. It was the first that I had ever seen and was even more glorious than I could have imagined. Now, I'm not a  _girl_ , as Arthur likes to accuse me of, but the sight of the unicorn did make me slightly weak in the knees. So much raw power, so uncorrupted by dark magic, almost naïve… it was too stunning for words.

Its coat gleamed white and its mane spilled over its eyes and down its neck. In the gap in the canopy of the forest, it almost glowed in the sun. It was bathed lightly in the mid-morning mist, creating an air of mystery. For a moment I forgot that I was supposed to be flushing it out so that Arthur could shoot it.

I remember hearing a rustling in the trees around me and having Arthur's intention for the unicorn flood back to me. I tried – I really did – to get it to move but the creature was either too stubborn or clueless to heed my warning. At least, that's what I thought at first. Now, looking back on that moment and the events that spawned from it, I find myself wondering if maybe the unicorn had some inkling of what was to come if it died, of the lessons Arthur would learn. It may sound strange but I can't help but at least entertain the idea that the unicorn actually _meant_ for this to happen. I could be wrong – I probably am – but even though the unicorn's death and the results of the curse were ghastly, Arthur, the Once and Future King, learned a valuable lesson.

And I learned that Arthur is willing to give his life – for  _me_. He may say he doesn't care—

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Because I  _don't_. I would've done that for anyone; don't think you're anything special,  _Mer_ lin. Although now I'm starting to second guess my decision.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Uh-huh.  _Sure_ , Arthur. Whatever you say.

As I was saying…

Shortly after we brought the unicorn's horn back to Camelot – and I  _detested_  having to be the one to carry it around like it was some sort of prize; I felt dirty, almost as if I had killed it myself just holding the horn – I tried to bring up my concerns to Arthur. But, as usual, Arthur was a prat and didn't listen. He seemed to think I was being overly sensitive in disapproving of his actions and started yammering on about how there was a rat in his chambers and I needed to find it.

If he's such a wonderful hunter, I wonder why he can't hunt down a rat? Surely he'd get a great sense of euphoria after stalking around his chambers looking for that little pest…

**.~*~.**

It's a terrifying realization that your food and water supplies have run short.

I had never even thought about something like this happening in Camelot. I knew of famines, certainly, and when I was younger sometimes small waves of famines swept through our village, though nothing as severe or widespread as this. We would just have to ration our food, not eating as much as usual, and often the adults would go several days without eating so that the children would have enough to survive. It wasn't fun but we managed to get through it.

But what happens when you barely have any resources left to ration?

**.~*~.**

I should have known, the moment that I caught a glimpse of Anhora in the forest after Arthur killed the unicorn, that it wouldn't be the last time. If I had stopped to think about it, even for a moment, I would have realized that there was much more going on than just a simple drought or famine. Then again, I was busy trying to help Gaius find a solution to our problems and running around after Arthur's rat friend.

When we saw someone breaking curfew – despite the fact that Arthur had just told me off for doing so – and chased after him, I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that whoever it was was more than just someone breaking the rules. By the way, I just have to add,  _what_  is the point of those  _ridiculous_ hand symbols Arthur always insists on using? He  _knows_ that I don't speak 'hunter' or whatever the heck it is he likes to call his form of sign language. If he's going to talk anyway, why does he have to point a million different directions? Not only does it flabbergast me, but it serves to make him look pretty silly as well.

Of course Arthur didn't want to believe what Anhora said was true, and I personally don't blame him one bit. I clearly remember the panic etched onto his face as he contemplated the idea that he could be doing this to his own people. It scared him. He couldn't stand the thought that Camelot's suffering was because of a decision he made. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it.

I tried to make him see sense but I only think I served to make things worse. And when he looked at me and said I'd do well to remember that anything a sorcerer says cannot be trusted, I felt my spirits plummet and my heart sink.

Yes, Arthur will be a great king someday and I know it will take some time for him to reach the point where he can accept magic. But hearing him talk so dismissively about my kind, about  _me_  essentially, hurt. I know he has grown up with the ideology that magic and all who practice it are evil. Perhaps one day, though, I will be able to change his mind.

**.~*~.**

I wasn't surprised in the slightest when Arthur passed the first of Anphora's test. He's a good man, even if he is a prat. I could tell that he felt for the man, for the man's children and family, and I knew from the moment "Evan" told his story that Arthur wasn't going to hand him over to be executed. And when Evan said that Arthur's actions would bring their own reward I  _knew_  that Arthur had passed the first test.

And he had. This was confirmed when, the next day, water was restored to Camelot.

I begin to think that perhaps these tests wouldn't be so hard after all. Maybe – just  _maybe_  – we'd get through this without any more roadblocks. Perhaps Arthur would get the hint and stow his pride for a little while.

I should have known better.

As far as the second test went, I wasn't there to see him take it. I can't help but wonder if I could have gotten him to think, drilled a little sense into him if I had been. Perhaps that's why I hadn't been able to catch up with him until  _after_  he had failed the test, because Arthur had to face it without the influence of someone else trying to change his mind. He needed to take it by himself. Still, I know that if he would have thought about it instead of leaping right into a fight, he would have realized that this was just another test.

That's the thing, though – Arthur  _is_  a good man and although he doesn't like to show any emotion, his emotions do tend to control him. From what little I was able to get him to tell me about the second test afterward, Evan preyed upon Arthur's weakest link – Arthur's fear that he'll never be good enough for his father, that Uther will never be proud of him and is ashamed to call him his son.

Now, I know that it was just a test, but I have to say – that  _was_  pretty low of Anhora. I'm just glad I was able to convince him to give Arthur another chance.

It was obvious that Anhora had plans for me in Arthur's final test if only I had paid closer attention. I did notice…  _something_ … in his eyes when he looked at me after I asked him to give Arthur a second chance. It was almost as if he was seeing me for the first time. Eerie… unnerving… maybe even… slightly predatory.

I put it all to my imagination, though, even when his eyes gleamed with an idea after I told him that I trusted Arthur with my life. I'm glad that I was able to be a part of Arthur's final test, though. It gave me a chance to see a glimpse of the noble king he will one day be – even if he bloody near gave me a heart attack in the process, making me think he was dead.

**.~*~.**

I still recall the apprehension that shook me to the core when I saw Anhora in the middle of the labyrinth, sword clutched in weathered, wrinkled hands and creamy cloak billowing about him eerily. I was angry that he was setting a trap for Arthur… and then he told me that the trap wasn't for Arthur.

It was for me.

Before I could even think, he uttered a spell and a vine from one of the hedges began to slither toward me. First it wrapped around my ankles, pulling them together tightly so that I almost toppled over. It slunk up my body, tying my arms to my sides. I remember how my breath caught in my throat as I realized what a fool I'd been.

And then everything went dark.

The next thing I knew, I had been untied but I was seated at a table on a beach, Anhora blocking my only escape and I realized that even though I wasn't tied anymore, I was still a captive. It clicked why the Keeper had looked at me so thoughtfully in the forest – he had planned, then and there, to make  _me_  Arthur's final test.

**.~*~.**

_Arthur was willing to sacrifice his life so that I could live._

That was what Anhora said. I thought it was just because Arthur felt guilty that he had unconsciously been the cause of all this and he wanted to take responsibility for his actions. But Anhora, being an ancient, powerful magician, could see what was in his heart. It wasn't just because of guilt – but he wasn't willing to let me die in his place.

He essentially died for  _me_.

With that realization, I could see the future a little more clearly. When we buried the unicorn's horn and Arthur apologized for his wrongdoing, I could feel my doubts about Arthur's pure heart being buried right along with it. And when the unicorn came back to life, re-emerging from the darkness of death because of Arthur's change of heart, I  _knew_  that someday Arthur Pendragon will be the greatest king Camelot has ever known.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I never would have thought that a simple hunting trip could have turned into a full-fledged plague of misfortune upon Camelot.

Of course, I know that it wasn't exactly the hunting trip that caused the curse, but the death of the unicorn. But if I hadn't decided to go hunting that morning, if we hadn't chosen that particular path through the forest, and if I hadn't decided to make Merlin go in there and flush it out, none of this would have ever happened.

I wouldn't have killed the unicorn. The terrible curse would not have descended upon Camelot. Merlin's life wouldn't have been used like it was something trivial, a mere means to get me to change my view, a part of a test. I wouldn't have had to deal with the pain of knowing I had let down my whole kingdom.

Then again, if none of this had happened, I don't think I would have come to the realization of how important Camelot is to me. And I certainly wouldn't have found out the extent of Merlin's loyalty to me.

**.~*~.**

I'll admit, I really didn't see what the big deal was about killing the unicorn. Merlin was so upset, going on about how it wasn't doing any harm and that there wasn't a point in killing it. To be honest, his girlish blathering was getting  _very_  old even if, as I found out later, there was truth to his words.

I've never quite understood this side of Merlin. He doesn't like hunting and although he eats meat whenever he or Gaius manages to scrape some together, he doesn't like the killing part. Myself, I think it's great fun. But Merlin always has this look in his eyes like he'd rather be anywhere else. I don't know why I always insist on him coming on hunting trips, to be honest – he's terribly loud, always tripping and stepping on twigs and scaring the prey and he complains nearly the whole time.

I guess it has more to do with the fact that Merlin doesn't like going hunting that I always take him with me. It's quite amusing – that is, until he scares away every deer and rabbit with his big mouth. Then I want to strangle him. Then again, I'm almost  _always_  wanting to strangle that idiot for  _something_  so it's not really that much of a surprise.

**.~*~.**

Camelot had never,  _ever_  experienced a drought and famine like this before. The whole situation seemed surreal. How could all of our edible crops simply die overnight while all the other plants – plants that we couldn't eat – continued to thrive? How could the water in the well turn to sand? How could this happen?

I was afraid, I'll admit it (but only to myself, of course). Not for myself – although I certainly didn't cherish the idea of being hungry. As the prince I've lived quite a cushioned life and I've never had to deal with going without food or water for any long amount of time.

I'd heard of famines, of course, but never thought that Camelot would be susceptible. We were a strong kingdom. We were the kingdom that other nations come to when they are in need. We didn't starve. We were invincible… or so I thought.

**.~*~.**

When that sorcerer, Anhora, told me that I would face three tests that would determine the fate of Camelot, I thought he was a complete nutter. Of course, when he suggested that  _I_  was the reason behind my peoples' misfortune, I thought he was the cause and was simply trying to blame it on me.

The first doubts about this came when I spared the man – he called himself Evan – after catching him trying to steal grain from the castle stores. I wasn't even thinking about a test at the time. And I didn't even plan on sparing him until I found myself telling him to go home. I wasn't sure why I was doing it at the time. I thought about the man, about how he was suffering, how his family was suffering, and about how he was only trying to keep his family and his children alive. I felt pity, sympathy, and before I knew it, I was sending him on his way with the sack of grain he was trying to take.

When he told me that my actions would bring their own reward, a small voice in the back of my mind told me that this encounter was not a coincidence. His words suggested that something good would happen because of my actions and he was right – the next day, the water had returned to the well.

**.~*~.**

_Rat. Stew._

I  _really_  hate Merlin sometimes.

**.~*~.**

I didn't mean to kill that man.

He didn't even really exist – Evan was a product of Anhora's magic – or maybe even Anhora himself. It was a test… to see what was truly in my heart. And I failed.

Time and time again after that second encounter, the second test, I have lain in bed, awake, and thought about what I could have done differently. There was no reason why I couldn't have continued walking, leaving him there to his taunts. I would have killed a man because of words he spoke.

I was prepared to ignore him and not let him bait me. But when he started talking about my father… and how I was not worthy of my father's love, how Father must be so disappointed in me… I lost it. Even after he told me how proud he was of me after he faced the Black Knight, I still struggle every day with my father's feelings for me. I often worry that I am not good enough, not doing enough, or just a big letdown. It was as if this "Evan" could see into the deepest, darkest recesses of my heart and exploited every hurt, every raw emotion and fear that he found there.

Still, I could have walked away. If I had, the curse would have been lifted then and there. The remaining food supplies wouldn't have rotted. Merlin wouldn't have had to have the presence of mind to search out Anhora again, begging for him to give me a second chance (something I still haven't thanked him for, although I'm sure he knows that I'm grateful). And Merlin's life would have never been at stake during the final test.

**.~*~.**

Fear. Anger. Annoyance. Worry. Indignation. Irritation at a certain disobedient servant that seems to think he can do whatever the hell he wants, even when I  _expressly_  tell him to stay in Camelot and gets himself into trouble.

Those were just a few of the emotions that swirled around inside of me when I saw Merlin sitting at the table, two goblets before him. He looked worried, maybe even a bit scared. I demanded that he be released – I was  _not_ about to let anything happen to the idiot that either had some sort of death wish or was simply too stupid to do as he was told (personally, I'm leaning toward the latter)—

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

_Hey!_  I take offense to that!

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Good. Now shut up and clean something.

Back to what I was saying, before I was so  _rudely_ interrupted.

Anhora made it perfectly clear what my choice was – I had the power of life and death over myself and Merlin in my hands. I could survive this – to what end, though? – by simply ordering Merlin to combine the two goblets and drink the poison. But that thought didn't cross my mind at all. I just looked across the table at Merlin, that idiotic, loyal, insanely annoying servant and  _knew_ I couldn't let him die. I refused.

And so I drank the poison. Or, as it later turned out, the sleeping draft.

It's odd, though…

When I was unconscious, I could vaguely hear Merlin's voice, or maybe I just imagined it. I almost thought I heard him begging, pleading for something. And then – and I  _know_  this was a dream – I thought he said something about how it was  _his_  job to protect  _me._

Right.

As if  _Mer_ lin could protect me.

**.~*~.**

I don't believe that I have ever been as ecstatic as I was when Merlin and I arrived back in Camelot to see that the grain was thriving once more and that the curse had been lifted. Still, something was wrong, and I knew what it was. There was no way I was going to let the unicorn's horn remain mounted on the castle walls. The unicorn was pure, beautiful, innocent…

And its memory deserved  _much_  better than that.

Imagine my surprise – and euphoria – when, after burying the horn and giving my regrets, the unicorn stepped out of the trees, alive again.

I've never seen such a beautiful sight in all my life. And until the day that I die, I don't know that I ever will.


	12. To Kill the King

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

I don't believe I had ever held this much hatred for someone as I did after Uther murdered Gwen's father.

I'm not as angry now; I don't  _hate_ him. I've learned that I need to pity King Uther because he is a broken man who lets his fear and lack of understanding of magic control his better judgment. Still, it is hard enough to forgive someone when you know they would kill you in a heartbeat if they knew of the gifts you were born with – and when they kill your best friend's father… it's nearly impossible.

**.~*~.**

The wrong place at the wrong time – that's all it takes to get condemned to death by Uther. You don't have to have magic. You don't have to had broken the law. As long as you are in a situation that he deems suspicious, no matter how many people plead your innocence, no matter how circumstantial the evidence, you will be accused and found guilty. I think that's why Tom chose to try and escape. He knew that even if he was given a so-called "fair" trial, he would be found guilty no matter what.

After her father was killed, I wasn't sure what to say to Gwen, how to comfort her, what to do or say to make it any less painful. I'm sure there was nothing I could say to ease the raw pain from his death. I wanted to, though.

I felt so helpless. When I cured Tom of his illness – very nearly getting Gwen burned as a witch in the process, although I try not to remember that terrible experience, and when I do remember, it is to remind myself that all my decisions have consequences – at least I was able to do  _something_. This time… I had to sit by and watch as Gwen's father was killed by Uther's men. I had to watch my best friend, the only other person besides Gaius that was kind to me from the moment I arrived, suffer the agony of losing her father. I can't imagine going through something like that – I never knew my father so I will never have to go through Gwen's pain.

Even so, I wish I could take it away from her.

**.~*~.**

After Tom was killed, the whole castle seemed to go into a bout of quiet shock. Gwen stayed with Gaius and I for a few days, unable to return home because of thoughts of her father. She was quiet and withdrawn, her eyes rimmed in red and full of sorrow I would never wish on anyone. Even now, she still harbors a deep sadness in her soul. The death of her father is something that she will never be able to forget, never be able to get over.

Arthur, on his part, was also sullen – at first I thought he was simply sulking because his father never listens to anything he advises when magic is involved. I realized soon after that no, Arthur wasn't angry at his father exactly. Instead, he was genuinely sorry for Gwen's loss. I could see it in his face when he came by the evening of his death and stood awkwardly in my room where Gwen was staying and told her that anything she needed, just let him know. There was also a spark of… something in his eyes when he looked at her that I was at a loss to explain. Almost… affection. But that's ridiculous. Isn't it?

As for Morgana, I've never seen her so furious. She wound up spending the night chained to a dungeon wall because of her reaction to Tom's death at Uther's hands. I think that may have had a bit to do with her later decision, but I think it was Gwen's loss that ultimately sparked her decision to try and kill the king.

**.~*~.**

When I saw Morgana sneaking out of Camelot and followed her into the woods, I wasn't sure what she was up to. But when I saw her surrounded by the sorcerer Torin and his men, demanding a stone, I realized that they must have dropped their magical alchemy stone at Gwen's when Tom was arrested and had demanded to get it back. Morgana must have discovered that Gwen was in trouble and offered to go in her place because she, apparently, already had the stone.

At first I thought her offer to help the men assassinate Uther was just a ploy to get her out of danger. But then she pulled up her sleeves and revealed her bloody, scraped wrists and asked if Uther normally chains his 'friends' to a dungeon wall. Even from where I was hiding I could see the fire in her eyes and I knew she had made her decision.

And now I was left with a choice: Stop Morgana and Torin from killing Uther or turn a blind eye, let the king die, and let Arthur's reign begin. It was a tough decision to make.

**.~*~.**

I almost chose to let Uther die. It would have been the easiest. He is my biggest threat. Without him, Arthur's reign as the Once and Future King could begin. Maybe magic could even be returned to the land. My life would be so much easier without him.

But then I stopped to think. Yes, it may have been the easiest solution, but as Gaius has told me many times before, the  _easiest_ solution is not always the  _best_  solution. In fact, it rarely ever is.

I thought about Arthur. If his father was killed by sorcerers, by Morgana – although he wouldn't necessarily know  _that_  bit – how would that affect his views about magic? He has been told all his life that magic is evil, that it corrupts. It is not only my destiny to protect Arthur and make sure he lives to be the great king that he will be someday, but also to help melt down and remold his views on magic. If magic kills his father, it is very unlikely that his views will go unchanged. I also thought of how much it would hurt Arthur to have to go through his father's death  _now,_ at such a delicate moment in his life. He's young – we're both young – and inexperienced, and between you and me, still a bit of a prat. He's not ready to be king. The era of the Once and Future King is not yet upon us.

The main factor, however, in my decision to protect the king was Gwen. I asked her what she would do if she held the power of life and death over Uther. After all, it  _was_  her father's death that jumpstarted all of this. She deserved the chance for retribution had she wanted it and I decided that her response to my question would be the linchpin of my decision.

I was fully expecting her to nod, tears in her eyes, saying, "Yes, given half a chance, I'd kill Uther myself for what he did to my father." I should have known better.

Gwen has such a kind heart. She also has a wise head on her shoulders. It should have been obvious what her response would be, but she was in so much pain and grief…

She looked at me and announced that she would feel nothing if Uther died, that he means  _nothing_  to her. Then she informed me that she wouldn't kill him because that would make her as bad as him. That would make her a murderer.

And just like that, the fog in my mind cleared up and my decision was made for me. Gwen  _really_  is a remarkable girl – that I'm  _not_  in love with – and I am talking to you,  _Arthur!_

**.~*~.**

I helped out with "background" stuff like I normally do after following Morgana and Uther to her father's gravesite, where she had arranged to set him up to be assassinated. I got rid of three of the four men but, unfortunately for me, Torin had his alchemy stone – which apparently also has the ability to reflect magic back onto the user. I didn't have time to react before my own spell was mirrored back to me and let me tell you, when I woke up, I had one hell of a headache.

In the end, Morgana had to make the decision for herself. I got rid of the extra men that would have tried to stop her and all that was left was Torin. She could have decided to let Uther die. I would have been able to do nothing about it, considering I was lying unconscious in the grass at the time. Morgana was left to make her own decision and I am very surprised and proud to know that she made the right one.

I just hope that she'll continue to do so... Camelot would be in a world of trouble if her loyalties were ever divided.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I can't explain my feelings when Gwen's father died.

I was angry at my father because he took circumstantial evidence and turned it into a full-scale plot for his death. He only sees enemies and I don't know if that will ever change. I tried to convince him that while yes, Tom did associate with a sorcerer, there was no evidence that supported that he was actually working with him or supplying weapons. But Father isn't one to listen to reason. And when the blacksmith escaped the cells, he was sure that that proved his guilt, although I have a very strong feeling that it was fear and desperation, not guilt, that caused him to run away.

But more than my irritation at my father was an overwhelming bout of sorrow for Guinevere. I don't think I've ever seen her in the way that I did in Merlin's room shortly after her father died. She was scared, grieving, all alone in the world, yet she still stood up straight and looked life in the eye, refusing to back down. It was an incredible sight to behold.

I didn't know what to say to her, how to make her feel better or ease the pain. She was hurting, that much was certain. I wanted to be there for her but she already had Merlin and Morgana who were hovering around her, making sure her needs were taken care of. I felt inadequate standing before her, offering the only condolences I could – the news that her home would be hers for life and a subdued apology for what she went through.

I just wish she hadn't had to go through that pain of losing her father.

**.~*~.**

I never realized just how close Gwen and Morgana are until Morgana wound up riling my father to the point that he threw her into the dungeons and chained her to the wall. I am still shocked at her level of disrespect for him and his drastic measures to squelch her protests. I talked to father, convinced him that Morgana would never challenge him again. I hated the idea of her in chains and I really questioned Father's decision to lock her up – I still do, actually.

She has challenged by father before, but never to the extent that she did after Tom the blacksmith's death. I could have chosen to side with my father, to be angry with her for her words, but many of them struck home. And I can't help but wonder if it was the same with father – if her words held no credence, surely he wouldn't have gotten as worked up as he did over them…

I'm starting to get the feeling that there's more to all of this – running the kingdom, judging criminals, the fight against magic – than meets the eye.

At any rate, I do disagree with my father for killing Gwen's father and I wish there was more I could do for her. But as I am a prince and she a servant, I suppose I'll have to lurk in the background, looking on as she tries to cope with her grief, and let her friends – her true, dearest friends, Merlin and Morgana – console her and help her through this.

But maybe someday –  _someday_  – I'll be able to do more for her than I can now. Because even though I can't explain it, I want to take away her pain and make amends for my father's wrong more than anything.

And no, Merlin, before you get any clever ideas – I am  _not_  in love with Gwen either.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

_Suuure_  you aren't…

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Merlin?

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Shut. Up.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

Hm. Maybe you  _are_ smarter than you look – but I doubt it.

I  _seriously_  doubt it.


	13. Le Morte D'Arthur

**_.~*Merlin*~._ **

Death has never seemed so real to me as it did during the course of the past few days.

I've seen death before, obviously, and I live under the constant threat of execution. I don't know how many times I've saved Arthur's life. I don't even know if I could count the number of times I've almost died since I came to Camelot, most – if not all – of them for Arthur. But when it comes to the potential death of someone you care about, and you find out that someone is  _deliberately_  trying to kill, to  _murder_ , that someone, it's a whole different story.

And it gets even more complicated when you have a chance to  _save_  that person – but the cost of redeeming their life is your own. There was not even a question for me. I'd give my life a thousand times over for those I care about. I'm not trying to be a hero – as Arthur decided to inform me in the Labyrinth of Gedref, it doesn't suit me – but it's just the truth. The people in my life that are close to me… I care about them. A lot. And I would do anything –  _anything_  – to prevent their suffering.

In the span of less than three days, I almost lost the three most important people in the world to me – and it very nearly tore me apart.

**.~*~.**

_The first person I almost lost was Arthur._

I knew from the very beginning that it wasn't going to be a good idea to go hunting for the Questing Beast. I could have told Arthur as much but I knew that he wouldn't listen to me. He  _never_  listens to me, even though I am proved right again and again – bit annoying, really. I just had this bad feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and when Morgana came running out of the castle, screaming for Arthur to stay, hysterical, convinced something terrible was going to happen to him… my feelings were all but confirmed as truth. Gaius has told me of his suspicions that Morgana is a seer and I've only seen evidence to back up that claim. And to see her so terrified, so utterly convinced that nothing good could come of this trip, scared me.

I foolishly thought that I'd be able to protect Arthur anyway.

I couldn't.

**.~*~.**

I refused to believe that he had been bitten at first. I saw the blood, yes, and the bite mark, but I just couldn't – _wouldn't_  – believe it. Gaius's words kept echoing wildly in my head, taunting me, reminding me –  _there_ is _no cure…_

No cure?

With that realization, I knew that unless a miracle happened, Arthur would die. And that could NOT happen. I would NOT allow it.

You know, the dragon is always talking about our destiny and all the good we will do someday, but in the moment that I was kneeling beside Arthur, trying without effect to get some sort of response out of him, I couldn't care less about destiny. The prospect of a broken destiny was the furthest thing from my mind. I remember calling blindly for help, the whole time thinking desperately,  _Damn destiny, damn the prophecies – I'd give them up in a heartbeat if Arthur would just get better! He's my_ friend _and I need him to live!_

I knew then that if there was anything –  _anything at all_  – that I could do to save Arthur, no matter the cost, I would do it. I found out later that when I said "no matter the cost" that the cost was going to be a  _lot_  steeper than I could have ever imagined.

**.~*~.**

I don't believe I'll ever be able to get that image out of my head completely – the horrifying picture of Arthur lying, bloodied and all but lifeless on Gaius's table, completely unresponsive to any form of magic I tried to use. I knew that Gaius had said that there was no cure for the bite of the Questing Beast but that didn't mean that I wasn't going to try. Arthur was my friend –  _is_  my friend – and I wasn't going to just let him die without doing anything to try and save him, even if I knew all the while that all my attempts at using magic to cure him would end in failure.

And then Uther came in, picked him up, carried him away, and I wanted to yell for him to stop. To tell him that he couldn't walk away with my friend, that he couldn't take him away where I couldn't desperately use magic to try and save him. I was angry at Uther for sending Arthur out on this ridiculous quest despite Gaius's warnings and because he was the only person besides myself and Arthur that I had any reason to be angry at.

I recall the all-consuming, burning fire of anger that lit up inside of me when Uther walked into the room. I don't even think I was fully aware of why I was so angry, but I don't believe I have ever hated the king as much as I did in that moment.

My anger melted away unbidden as I watched him struggle to cross the courtyard with a dying Arthur in his arms and I remembered – Uther was grieving just as much, if not more, than I was. Arthur was his  _son_. And who was I? His servant?

His friend.

And I couldn't let him die. I  _wouldn't_ let him die.

**.~*~.**

_The second person I almost lost was my mother._

I should have known that Nimueh was going to trick me. I had absolutely no reason to trust her. She's tried to kill me in the past and left Arthur at the mercy of a pack of giant killer spiders. She's messed with Camelot, killed, and generally wreaked havoc. I probably shouldn't have trusted her. I had no choice, though.

But if I had known that it would be my mother's life she would try to take instead of Arthur's, would I have gone along with it still? I don't think I could. Believe me, I would have done, promised, bargained  _anything_  to save Arthur and my mother, but… she's my  _mother_.

I feel like a terrible person just admitting this, but make no mistake: I would trade my life for Arthur's any day. I would trade my life for my mother's in a heartbeat. But would I trade one of their lives for the other? I don't think I could kill Arthur to save my mother and I definitely couldn't kill my mother to save Arthur. Either way, I would never be able to forgive myself. How is one supposed to choose between two of the most important people in their lives, the very people that they don't want anything bad to happen to?

I didn't know that Nimueh was going to go after my mother, though. I thought that she was going to take my life for Arthur's, and for that I was willing.

I can't even begin to describe the horror of finding Gaius hovering over the dying form of my mother the morning after we gave the "miracle cure" to Arthur. I was so happy the night before when Gaius told me that the prince lived. After the initial happiness wore off, though, I had begun to get slightly apprehensive. I was just sure that when I fell asleep, I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I was alright with that, though, if it meant that Arthur would live.

But I did  _not_  bargain my mother's life. That was why I returned to the Isle of the Blessed. That was why I assured the dragon he wouldn't be seeing me again. That was why I almost lost someone else that I loved.

**.~*~.**

Saying goodbye to Gaius – again – was harder than I would have ever expected. Saying goodbye to Arthur was nearly impossible.

I was relieved to see him sitting up, eating (honestly, I don't think there's ever a time when that prat is  _not_ eating!). His arm was in a sling and he still looked pale and drained, but other than that, he looked like Arthur. He had been cured.  _He owed it all to Gaius._

I almost told Arthur everything then. I didn't see why I shouldn't – after all, I was going to return to the Isle so that Nimueh could kill me and save my mother. I was going to die anyway, Arthur might as well know all that I've done for him. But something stopped me.

I didn't want the recognition. That wasn't why I wanted to tell Arthur everything. I just wanted him to know that I was there for him, that I was his friend. Maybe he knows that. I don't know. But I held back. I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him because I was afraid that if I did, he wouldn't take it as friendship that I had risked so much by performing magic in Camelot, but that he would see it as a betrayal. I didn't want to die with Arthur thinking I was a traitor.

The way we went back and forth before I left, with me calling him a prat and Arthur being his normally princely self, I felt tears welling up in my eyes because I sincerely thought this would be the last time I would ever joke with Arthur. I didn't want to leave him, my prince, my friend, but I  _had_  to. I had to die for my mother just as I had  _tried_  to die for Arthur.

I remember wondering fleetingly, randomly, if Arthur had heard about my mother, that she was dying in Gaius's chambers. I like to think, to hope, that he hadn't because I would like to believe that if he had, he would have said something or been there for me. I suppose no one had told him. Why should they? She was no one to Arthur, at least as far as they knew. But I think Arthur would have responded to her illness differently. He had, after all, met her before, stayed at our house, helped us defend our village despite the ridiculous odds. I think he would have cared, would have been there for me.

Regardless, when I told him goodbye, I felt as if my very being was being ripped into pieces. I had almost lost him once – he was my best friend, even if I would never admit it to him and he would as sure as hell never even _think_  about saying it – and my mother was dying. I was going to die for him, for her, for them.

Little did I know, Gaius was already a few steps ahead of me.

**.~*~.**

_The third person I almost lost was Gaius._

When I read the note he had left me, the note that said he was going to give his life for me so that I wouldn't die for my mother, I was terrified. I'd gone through so much heartache the past few days that I didn't think I'd be able to handle it if Gaius died, even if it  _did_  bring back my mother. I was also angry. This was supposed to have been simple. If Nimueh would have just kept to her bargain like she said – or rather, like  _I_  said, since I offered my life for Arthur's – my mother never would have gotten ill, Arthur would have lived, and Gaius would have never gone to give his life for mine. This was getting so complicated and infuriating. Nimueh should have just killed me to begin with.

When I saw Gaius lying motionless at the altar on the Isle of the Blessed, I knew what had happened. I was too late.  _Too late_. Gaius was dead – Nimueh had killed him.  _Murdered him_. In my place.

I have never felt a rage so great. I still get angry, even days later, when I think about what she did. And after she killed my mentor, the man who was like a father to me, she tried to get me to  _join her_? How could she be so stupid? She had just tried to take away the three most important people in my life and had succeeded in one such endeavor. Gaius was lying in a heap at her altar. And she wanted to join forces with me? I wasn't about to let that happen.

I don't remember much from when she hit me with that fireball. I remember pain – lots and lots of pain – and the stench of burning flesh. My chest felt like someone was sitting on it while rubbing hot coals into the skin. My clothes were burnt and I knew there was a gaping hole in my chest. I should have been dead. But my rage, my magic, my grief, kept me alive. I was still in horrendous agony when I staggered to my feet and faced Nimueh, who had walked away from my broken body like I was nothing more than a fleeting interest she had grown tired of. My chest screamed in agony but I ignored it. I pretended that I wasn't hurt, broken, and dying from the grief inside of me.

_"You should not have killed my friend."_

I have never unleashed such a mad stream of power in my life. I didn't even know such power existed, let alone within me. One minute the anger and hatred and grief was pressing at the back of my eyes like a hot poker, searing my soul and heart with unbridled agony. The next, lightning tore from the sky, rain fell from the clouds, and Nimueh was shrieking, flashing in the storm, and then… she was gone.

I didn't feel remorse for what I'd done. I still haven't. I know that I will once the shock wears off. Maybe. I did what I had to, though. In killing Nimueh, I mastered the power of life and death itself, which, as Gaius has informed me, is no small feat. With Nimueh's death, Gaius lived.

I still remember sitting against the alter with my mentor in my arms, rain pelting down on us (I had summoned the rain, yes, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to make it go away), laughing at the sky.

I have never felt so grateful.

Yes, I had been through hell as everyone I was close to nearly died. But the near-tragedies opened my eyes to all that I do have.

A wonderful mother, a wise old guardian, and a best friend and master that's a prat – but a good one.

I suppose the old proverb is right – you never know what you have until it's gone.

**.~*~.**

**_.~*Arthur*~._ **

I don't remember much about the past few days. Only snippets that continue to float randomly around in my memory. Some of them I can't help but wonder if I imagined them. Others I know are real but I can't place when they could have happened.

I remember getting bitten by the Questing Beast. Pain. Agony. Torment. I thought I was in hell itself, constantly reliving the moment when the ghastly creature sunk its teeth into my shoulder. My mind was plagued with horrendous nightmares, demonic faces, death and chaos.

The worst nightmare I had, though, was, strangely enough, about Merlin.

**.~*~.**

_I dreamed that Merlin was on a small boat, moving swiftly through the too calm waters of a lake._

_Merlin came to an island that was covered in the ruins of what must have once been a great temple. An altar stood in the middle and a beautiful woman, somehow familiar, with the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen stood next to it._

_She was eyeing Merlin like he was her prey. The look in her eyes was murderous. Merlin said some words but either they were muffled or I just couldn't understand what they meant. She responded, but I heard her clearly. "You are going to_ die _, Merlin."_

_Tears spilled down Merlin's face and he nodded. She held out an arm and a hot, inflamed ball of cinders appeared in her hand and she shot it across the grass, where it hit Merlin squarely in the chest._

_He was in agony, twisting, screaming, groaning, and she just watched with a smile on her face. Eventually Merlin's open eyes lost their spark and the life left his body. He was dead._

_And he just kept dying in even more ghastly and painful ways, over and over again in my mind, until I could stand it no more._

_But stand it I had to for there was nowhere I could go. I was stuck in the clutches of the Questing Beast's venom, dying a slow and painful death._

**.~*~.**

I don't really know what inspired those dreams about Merlin and I'll never tell him that I dreamed them. For several reasons. One, Merlin is never, ever going to know that I've dreamt about him. The idiot might get it in his head that he's actually important enough for a prince to dream about. Two, I don't ever want to speak the dream aloud. Ever. To anyone. For some reason my mind seems to illogically think that if I put the nightmare into words, it might happen. And I don't want to think about anything like that ever happening to Merlin.

**.~*~.**

I vaguely remember being in the throes of a terrible nightmare. I was hot, too hot, and the pain was burning from my shoulder through my entire body. I know that I was twitching, tossing, and then suddenly I felt a hand on my head, running through my hair. "Sleep, Arthur," said my father's voice and miraculously, I did.

I still wonder if I dreamed that or not. My father has never been one to show affection. He loves me but he never says it, and I believe he's proud of me, but this… this open show of affection, whether I was dying or not, was surprising to me. That's why I still wonder if it was something my subconscious that was fighting the venom made up to try and comfort me.

But I think, deep down, that I know the truth.

It  _did_  really happen. The joy on his face when he saw that I was awake and alive was enough to give substantial evidence that I didn't imagine it.

**.~*~.**

I also remember someone stroking my forehead and holding my hand, practically willing me to live. Words were spoken about how I was going to become a great king. And something about "the man I am inside…"

I know I recognized that voice. It was Guinevere although she won't admit it. I wish she would though. Perhaps if she admitted to saying those encouraging and heartfelt words, I could admit, at least to myself, that I am beginning to see her in an all new light.

_Guinevere…_

**.~*~.**

What Merlin said when he came to see me after Gaius had cured me really shook me up. He looked sad, beaten, all out depressed. The look in his eyes frightened me and I was almost afraid he was going to try and do something stupid. I assumed that he was this upset because I had almost died but now I have a feeling that there was something more. I may have been giving myself a teensy bit too much credit for Merlin's pain.

It wasn't just the haggard lack of light in his eyes that alarmed me (reminding me of the dead Merlin lying on the turf in my nightmares), but the way that he spoke, like he was saying goodbye.

He wasn't saying goodbye… or was he?

And those final words before he left, "I'm happy to be your servant… until the day I die…" left me with chills. I'm almost positive that he knew more than he was letting on. I almost tried to chase after him but I was too weak. I very nearly called in some guards to collect him and bring him back to me so that I could know he was safe.

I had a terrifying feeling that my dream was going to become a reality.

**.~*~.**

I didn't see Merlin again until the next morning. I had honestly thought that he had gone and gotten himself killed, and for some reason the prospect made me feel physically ill. When I saw Merlin was alright, my worry for his well-being quickly turned into irritation at making me worry about him, the idiot. So I yelled at him a bit, chucked a bread crust at him, called him an idiot, and was delighted to see his face – lively and happy once more – break into a smile.

I still haven't been able to get him to tell me where he was when he disappeared or why he was so sad that night he came to see me. I've decided to let it go, though. Maybe he'll tell me, maybe he won't. Me, I'm just glad that the idiot is alright. For some reason, the thought of losing him still scares me more than I can say.

Guess that means I'll have to keep an extra close eye on him, then, until I figure out why he affects me like that… it almost makes me think of what it is like to have a true friend. But… nah.

Surely not. I'm a prince, Merlin's a servant. We can't be friends.

Even so, I've got this feeling, this brotherly feel toward the clumsy servant that keep hovering, just out of reach, in the back of my mind…

**THE END**


End file.
